


A Bit Better

by VulpineBeesKnees



Series: Not Good Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Elements of dubcon, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Not half as painful as the last two stories, Smut, everything will be better in time, lots of fluff, more tags as we go, we're liars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpineBeesKnees/pseuds/VulpineBeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alright. Finally. Part three... Things will get better now... Promise..</p><p>If you haven't read part one and two, A bit not good and a Bit Worse, go read those first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was dead.

After three years of waiting and the hell they had both been through since his return he was irrecoverably dead. John could feel himself gasping for breaths as he rocked against Sherlock’s chest. Everything he had done to keep him alive, and John had been powerless to help him. 

At some point he started muttering incoherently into the other’s chest, begging for him to not be dead, for it to be a trick again. John became so distraught in his state he didn’t notice the gentle hand that covered his weeping shoulder until a gasping breath lifted the chest beneath his cheek.

"John why on earth are you carrying on like that?"

A cough rattled through Sherlock’s body as he attempted to sit up. Discovering he lacked both the strength and drive, he relaxed back down into the mattress.

"Sher--?"

The name caught in Johns throat as he pulled away, thoroughly startled. His eyes blinked rapidly in confusion.

"You're alive?"

His hands skirted across Sherlock's skin as he spoke, feeling his pulse in various locations, his neck, wrists, and finally one hand settled over his heart, tan fingers splayed out over the pale chest. His brows furrowed and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, this time in relief.

"It appears so... Thinking back now, it would be unlikely for Moriarty to actually put my life in danger with Mary and Seb already dead... Perhaps this was meant to scare me into following him had I let you die and him live.... It all seems so clear now.... Why I didn't think of it before is beyond me.. Perhaps I wanted to think the worst to keep from being disappointed if I expected the best and it was the other way round..." He looked up from his rant and slowed as he took in John's state.

The last thing he could remember was asking for tea, the rest of it was mostly images and fleeting emotions. His hand moved up to gently slide over John's fingers and hold them tight.

"Hush now." He cooed softly, "I'm alright, as you have seen so thoroughly yourself. Now help me sit up." Not even alive five minutes and he was already being his pushy self again.

"It must have been some slow acting sedative, one that makes your heart stop for an undisclosed amount of time. I did feel a jolt as I woke. Perhaps a hidden time released center of adrenaline. They could certainly concentrate enough in the center of a capsule to restart ones heart... The tricky part is making sure the body continues to digest even after death. Hmmm I must ponder on this more later John..."

John barely heard the explanation, his mind too dazed to really absorb anything. Quickly he pulled the detective up into his arms, he didn't realize he was rocking slightly, nor did he hear the door open downstairs.

After nearly smothering him to death, again, John pushed him back to the bed. "Did you ask why I was crying?" His mind finally catching up, slowly processing everything that had been said.

"Yes I did, however, I feel it necessary to inform you that Mycroft..." He paused a moment listening, "and Lestrade are coming up the stairs. I think covering myself might be a good idea."

He looked down at his naked body as if to make a point. "We can discuss this further later, for now I feel we must handle the situation at hand..." One arm came up to push John to his side and weakly slid his legs under the duvet and pulled it up over his chest as footsteps entered the sitting room.

Sherlock gave a small yawn, rolling his head to look at John and reaching out to pat his hand gently.

John’s mind was still working in slow motion, but when he heard heavy footfalls making their way down the hall he hurried from the bed, sliding on his trousers, without pants, just as Mycroft softly knocked on the door. Grabbing one of Sherlock’s flannels that had been tossed to the side and throwing it over himself John opened the door and slunk out into the hallway. He needed to talk to someone that was making sense.

Mycroft had already seen into the room, and he had seen his brother tucked into his bed as if he couldn’t be bothered to die today.

“So it was a placebo then?” Mycroft seemed mildly surprised, if that. John reared back.

“No not exactly a placebo... Wait. You’ve gotta be kidding me! Am I the only one that didn’t see this coming?” He was furiously buttoning up Sherlock’s shirt with his good hand to hide the majority of the incriminating marks across his chest.

Mycroft shrugged minutely. “I had my doubts, but I decided to err on the side of caution.” His head cocked to the side and his eyebrows raised slightly.

John’s lips pressed into a thin line, as he shook his head. “And you?” He looked to Lestrade, the only man here that was supposed to be his friend before anything else. “Did you know as well? Let me go on believing he was dying? Again?!” He knew standing out in the hall had been a moot effort, it wasn’t like Sherlock couldn’t hear his every word.

"I had no idea he was even dying mate. I just thought he was being... Well you know, Sherlock." He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Mycroft wouldn't tell me anything, just said we needed to be over here in four hours and to expect the unexpected..."

He gave John a half shrug that clearly said, They're Holmes' what can you do?

"I should think you were relieved in my not passing John. Should I go about it some other way to appease you?" Came the snarky reply from the bedroom, "If you are all going to talk about me where I can hear you, you might as well come in here with me so I don't have to shout..."

Letting his head fall back, John let out a defeated sigh. Pushing the door open and stepping back into the small bedroom he gave Sherlock a soft smile. “Of course I’m relieved Sherlock. Just in shock is all.”

His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans and the flannel shirt hung awkwardly as he’d missed two buttons in his haste. John could sense the two men hovering behind him, one still worried, the other simply befuddled.

Stepping around John Mycroft moved towards the bed, absentmindedly fingering the various items that lined the shelves. He seemed completely unbothered that his brother was obviously naked beneath the covers, perhaps the fact that he was alive was enough, or maybe he simply didn’t have any sense of privacy when it came to Sherlock. “We really should go back to the hospital brother. You may be alive, the pill obviously still served some sort of purpose. Not to mention the care the rest of your wounds need.”

John brightened slightly as he looked at Mycroft, for once he wasn’t the one telling Sherlock to take care of himself. Normally, of course, John cared for any injuries Sherlock acquired during their adventures, but currently John had a few problems of his own. His adrenaline and the lovely meds he’d been given at the hospital, were both wearing off, making him quite aware of his own battle wounds from the past few days.

"I'm fine..." The detective waved off his brother. He knew John would make him go eventually, but agreeing with something Mycroft had told him to do was far too complacent and dull.

"I feel a bit groggy, and tired, but aside from that nothing really feels out of the normal, I just want to be at home for now thanks..." He crossed his arms, keeping his injured one on top, and looked away from his brother as if to signal that the conversation was over.

"Is that true Sherlock? Or are you just afraid they'll keep you because of all the cocaine you've been taking?" Lestrade's voice seemed to ring out between them, and Sherlock's head snapped back in his direction, proving that yes that was very much a reason he didn't want to go. The younger man didn't say anything however and settled for a glare before turning away once more.

"Are you two quite finished mucking about in our lives?" He asked after a moment, "because I think there are things John and I need to discuss privately."

“There is one more thing,” His brother said, sniffing arrogantly, “There is the matter of the murder of Irene Adler, Mary Moran, and Martin James Roy. I have no doubt that a court will render the death of Martin self defense, and technically there was no record of Irene Adler, but as for Mary Moran...” he trailed off, “We will do all we can to keep your name clear Sherlock, but it will be difficult to do so while you are strung out on drugs. You will need to cover your withdrawals as best you can.”

 

“It will be a private hearing then?” Sherlock asked, seeming bored.

“Obviously.” Mycroft looked toward John, his eyes silently demanding that he ensure Sherlock was properly cared for. John nodded shortly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. Mycroft hesitated for a moment before turning on his heel and striding from the room without a word.

Lestrade hesitated, his jaw was set, obviously irritated with the whole situation. He shot Sherlock a glare before following after the older Holmes, muttering, "Keep me updated," to John without even looking at him.

After he heard the door to the sitting room close, a little harder than necessary, John returned to the bed. He didn't know how to act now, it had been simple before. Now Sherlock was alive, and he'd gone and acted as if it wasn't a good thing. Sitting on the edge so he was facing Sherlock his lips pulled to the side nervously.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. That wasn't... I was just shocked." His eyes met Sherlocks adamantly.

"Perhaps I should get you a blanket?" He interrupted, his voice sounded more irritated than he actually was, "For god’s sake you've been thinking so loud my brain actually hurts, just come over here and shut up." His agitated fingers began tapping at the sheets nervously, the only tick that belied his addiction and how much the events had actually taken their toll on him.

"I don't feel like going anywhere just now, and I've lost a lot of blood and some friend of mine had gotten me used to sleeping normally before this all happened. I'd like to take a nap before the poking and prodding begins." His tone was haughty but it didn't hide the fact that the hand resting in the empty space beside him was an invitation for the soldier to join him.

Let out a heavy breath Johns shoulders relaxed. “Yeah alright.” He said as he fell into the open space, his body fitting snugly against Sherlocks. John wasn’t too well off himself, he was exhausted and his entire body ached, not to mention the emotional turmoil he had been through. “Don’t think this is getting you out the poking and the prodding.” He teased as he carefully situated himself so he wasn’t putting too much pressure on his arm. His better hand lacing with Sherlock’s as he stared up at the white ceiling.

His body relaxed, but his mind whirled. Moriarty was dead, Sherlock was alive. It was over, they were safe. And they had just had sex. There had been something between them before that of course, but this was Sherlock. Sherlock marriedtomywork Holmes.

“So.” John started, his voice just above a whisper, “You said we have things to discuss, or was that just to get your brother out of here?”

Sherlock allowed the doctor to cuddle up to him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders lightly. He would never tell him, but it was extremely comforting to feel the other's weary body against his own.

"It served more than one purpose. It did get my tedious brother to leave, and I assumed you would want to talk. All I can offer is to listen and input where I can. You of all people should know that emotions are one of my few weaknesses, talking about them even more so." His lithe fingers gently tapped against John's knuckles but their urgency was gone for the moment.

"You assumed right, but you always do..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his gaze, watching Sherlocks small movements against his hand. "I won't beat around the bush with it then. What are we?"

He turned his head so his nose was gently brushing Sherlock’s cheek. His voice was level, and as emotionally stable as he could manage.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. He felt like a child that had been given a question to answer that was far beyond his cognitive abilities. He'd spent all his life studying so that he never had to encounter this feeling, but nothing could have prepared him for such a loaded question.

It was obvious to him how much John had invested in his life and vice versa, and he'd never felt the overwhelming need to touch and protect someone as he did with John, but what did that make them? Boyfriends seemed like such a flamboyant and juvenile term in his mind, colleagues didn't really sum them up either. He supposed partners or significant others were the terms of choice among homosexual males their age. But then again they didn't really fit into that category, as he was not generally sexually attracted to anyone, and John seemed to cling to the term straight like a life jacket. But the more he thought about it, the last two did seem to fit. They were partners, as John would follow him all over London if he asked, and even Anderson could tell John was significant to him.

However, he didn't say any of this for a long time, and when he finally spoke, he opted for something that would lighten the doctor's spirits and perhaps distract him from the heaviness of the day. The added bonus of frustrating John incessantly by being obstinate was a guilty pleasure of his.

"We'll John, if you must know, we are males of the genus homosapien. You are a retired Army doctor that inflicts his opinions upon the unsuspecting world through your blog, and I am the most brilliant mind of my time. However I settle for the modest role of consulting detective."

He wasn't looking at John and he was finding his typical emotionless expression harder to come by than usual. He bit the inside of his lip to discourage the corners of his mouth from curling up.

Giving Sherlock a gentle shove, mindful of both their injuries, John turned away, looking back at the blank ceiling. “You would say that.” He muttered irritably. His lips quirked to the side as he tried to think of something that wouldn’t provoke such a snarky response.

John knew what he wanted to ask, it was forming the words that was posing the problem.

 

“Do you remember everything? Before you... lost consciousness I mean.” John had told the bloody man that he loved him, and he was making jokes about them being homosapiens. Johns fingers fidgeted in Sherlock’s hand as he stared at pointedly at the ceiling.

Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief at John’s slight change of topic. He knew the bugger would get back around to it eventually. It was his way, figuring out how to work his way back up to the questions he wanted answering without Sherlock realizing it sometimes.

“I remember sending you away to make tea, because I could tell whatever I took was starting to break down. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and I didn’t think you’d want to see projectile vomit or intense bleeding if it came to that. I remember being, hot, then cold, and then hearing glass break.” His eyebrows knit together as the picture became foggier in his mind, like a dream. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples in attempt to catch the tails slipping through his fingers.

“I remember your hands on my face, and you were saying something.. but I can’t hear it in my mind.” he let his hands fall back to their place as he let the memory swim away from him finally, “And I remember saying something clever, and then numbness...” he trailed off as if the fact that he couldn’t recall specifics were truly devastating to him.

Trying not to sound disappointed John moved on, again letting the unresolved issue lie yet again. Sherlock didn’t remember, and for all John knew, that might be for the best. Choosing his words carefully, his eyes never faltering as he began to see shapes in the uneven surface of the ceiling above him, John continued.

“And everything that happened before that... Was that...” He stuttered slightly, “Would that have happened had you not been drugged?” Part of John really wasn’t sure, Sherlock had been faced with death, or what they thought was his death, and he’d been high off of cocaine for the better part of a day. Yes Sherlock had kissed him at the Christmas Party, but now they had crossed into completely foreign territory. Even John was a bit lost emotionally.

Their relationship had already been an enigma to him, but he had been growing to accept it, no matter how new and different it was. But this was different. He was at a loss.

“Would I have engaged in sexual intercourse with you?” Sherlock thought for a long moment on how best to answer that question. If he had not known he was going to die, would he have pressed things the way he did? Would he have rushed into that physical aspect of a relationship?

Letting his eyes slip closed and his head loll sideways to rest on John’s, he finally decided to speak. “If I had not thought I was going to die, I would not have... instigated things to that level.” He took a deep breath and fell silent again. He could feel the tension growing thick in the air, felt John’s muscles tensing at his response, and realized that he might have been a bit too vague that time.

“John do not misunderstand me.” he pulled away finally, and moved so that he was looking into John’s eyes, his gaze calm and unwavering. “I do not regret what we did. But look at it logically from my point of view. I have suspected for a long time that things were... changing between us. The dynamic was different, we were closer, and more intimate, but I knew you weren’t ready to face it. Then I let them talk me into pushing you into a corner underneath the plastic plant... and you ran away from me. Then you got yourself kidnapped and I had to traipse all over London to find you. If that all happened from one kiss when you weren’t ready... to scale the entire earth might have been destroyed if I’d pressed you further. Perhaps the earth is too dramatic, but my world at least, would have been destroyed.”

In that moment his eyes were serious. What he was saying sounded juvenile, but when he thought about it logically it made sense.The negative reaction to pressuring John into a kiss was already so drastic, taking things further would have meant annihilation of everything they’d strived to accomplish since he’d returned from his three year death jaunt.

“But…” John started, his brow furrowing as he met Sherlock’s gaze, “We’ve gone far beyond a kiss under the mistletoe Sherlock, and as far as I can tell the earth still seems to be rotating. So we went farther, and our world didn’t collapse...” He took a breath, his eyes cutting away from Sherlocks finally. “I only meant to go for a walk you know. What Moriarty did, that wasn’t an effect of you kissing me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the kiss. If that wasn’t already evident, I rather enjoyed it up until the point that, you know, it ended and I had to face everyone.”

Sherlock had been so worried about protecting John, easing him into whatever insane relationship they had formed, that he seemed to have failed to realize John did want this as much, if not more, as he did.

“At the time I had no evidence to suggest that you were feeling the same attachment I was other than my own inference, and you and I both know that social grace is not my forte. To further argue my point, it was because of my supposed imminent death that you were ready to take such a step with me, where areas, at the christmas party I can only assume you were still wildly confused about whether you were gay or whether it was just me you were attracted to. Therefore my logic is still sound that had you not been ready, I would not have instigated such things, because as you say, that would have been... tell me would it have been rude or selfish?” He waved off the question as if it really didn’t matter, the results were the same.

“And if you are worried that my actions were merely the side effects of a drug induced high then clearly you are not as versed in your knowledge of me as you seem to think.” A hand reached out and brushed a thumb against John’s cheek.

“I am no waxing poetic John. I’m barely good with words that a typical passerby can understand. All I know is that for my entire life the thought of touching someone for anything other than gathering information was repulsive. I once retched after a girl in university hugged me on a whim. Something about you makes me want to seek out your touch John. I’m sure even you can infer the magnitude of confusion and inexperience this revelation has thrust upon me.”

Covering Sherlock’s hand with his own John pressed his cheek into the others palm. “This is confusing for me too Sherlock. I don’t expect anything different out of you.” John found he was much more relaxed now that Sherlock had suddenly opened up so much. “I was scared before, unrightly so honestly, but I was. It wasn’t that I was worried about being gay or not, I knew I had feelings for you, that wasn’t the issue. I just didn’t know how to be open about that fact when I have identified as a straight soldier my entire adult life. I still don’t know I guess, but I do know I want... something... I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend,” He put an emphasis on the term that made it obvious he was not interested in it at all. “Hell I don’t want you to be any different than you are... But we’ve already crossed a line, and I don’t know where that leaves us.” He realized he’d been rambling slightly, probably making things even more confusing for Sherlock.

“I just want to know what you want Sherlock. Do you want this? A relationship?”

John chewed at his lip, his expression open and curious all at once.

Sherlock didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to peg this down and call it something he wasn’t even sure if it was. He wanted to spend the rest of his life running with John. Thoughts of what they’d done earlier filled his mind and he decided he'd like more of that too if given the chance. But as his eyes slipped down over John, taking in his haggard face, the bandages on his arms, he couldn’t help but think that being close to Sherlock was not something that was necessarily safe or sane for John to want. Perhaps it was the loneliness that had driven them together. Maybe there really was something there, but the detective was not about to lay down any kind of boundaries. He would leave his request open, so that if anything happened, there would always be an out.

“Why do we have to have a definite answer?” He asked, his mind racing to think of how to word this right, “Why can’t we just learn about it together?” He rubbed a hand over his brow in frustration, he hated talking about emotions, it always made him feel so juvenile.

“Obviously we both enjoyed our sexual encounter earlier. It would have been difficult to proceed with it had that not been the case. I enjoy your company, you generally enjoy mine, and we already sleep together to keep nightmares at bay. Why not just... what is that phrase.... ‘let the waves take us out to sea’ I don’t know...” he looked at John almost desperately, needing him to understand his meaning

Nodding a little too vigorously John offered Sherlock a half smile. “We don’t need a definite answer, I just needed to know that we were on the same page here. That’s fine, it’s all fine.” He thought about asking about them being exclusive, but dismissed the thought. Like Sherlock had said, this wasn’t something he did.

So they would play it by ear, John was fine with that. They were best friends, flatmates, shagbuddies... John had to stop his mind there, it wasn’t really helping him come to terms. Something deep in his mind reminded him that Sherlock wouldn’t get better at talking about his emotions. This limbo could become their normal.

Pushing the thought away quickly John nuzzled in closer, determined to carry on now that things were settled, or as settled as they would be. “We’re supposed to be taking a nap aren't we?” He pulled Sherlock against him softly, tugging on his fingers until the detectives body was draped behind his.

Sherlock nodded softly, his mind still in a whirlwind of insecurities.

“Yes... we were weren’t we...” His fingers were pulled so that his arms were wrapped around John’s chest, instinctually pulling him in and threading a long leg over and back through John’s. For the first time in several days, Sherlock felt a semblance of peace fall over him. His arms rested low on John’s hips and suddenly he was very aware of three things. He was very naked, John was very not, and the doctor was wearing the detective’s plaid shirt.

Sighing readily, he blew hot air against the doctor’s ear as his hand tugged lazily at one of the buttons low on the shirt, close to the top of his jeans. He only spoke one word to convey what he wanted.

“Off....”

The breath on his ear mingled with the command made a shiver run down Johns spine. He rolled his shoulders against the detective and chuckled softly as small hairs along the base of his neck stood up. "Oh.. Not up for sharing?" He teased as his hand found hold on the buttons of the shirt, essentially halting Sherlocks efforts.

“You’re a little overdressed,” He grumbled, fingers pressing underneath the shirt and fingering over his ribs like the strings of his violin. Softly, he let his fingers drift upwards, moving up over the tight muscles beneath warm skin. He hummed approvingly when his fingers reached the hollow of John’s throat, and started the slow slide back down. Closing his eyes he let his fingers massage small circles back down until they slid across John’s lower abdomen, fingers brushing against his beltline.

“I don’t really want to get chafed while we’re sleeping either.” His thumb hooked in the front of the man’s jeans and popped the button. “So I repeat. Off.”

John was beginning to realize just how intoxicating Sherlock’s voice could be. His breath hitched for a second as the command was repeated, this time he didn't hesitate. His fingers were fumbling with the buttons of the flannel quickly and soon enough he was shimmying out of the denim trousers, determined to lose the garments without pulling away from the detective.

Sherlock’s body felt comfortably warm next to his. The skin on skin contact was still deliciously new and exciting. "Better?" He quipped lacing his hand back through Sherlocks.

His fingers threaded through John’s, pulling him tight against his body, his hips fitting right against the swell of the John’s backside. His leg slipped between John’s and his nose tucked behind the other’s ear.

“That’s better.” he said, a sigh brushing down the back of the smaller man’s neck, “Get better soon so I don’t have to go to the hospital.” His thumb brushed over the back of a hand as he settled in for some much needed sleep.

 

 

A/N: Yeah okay.. we lied. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, we will be updating every sunday for now. Enjoy =)


	2. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a bit of recovery. =)

Sherlock swore that Mycroft would be the death of him. Somehow, the man had known exactly when and where John was dragging him to be treated, and had showed up just as the nurse slipped out to get the phlebotomist to run an IV. They wanted to keep Sherlock overnight to flush his body of toxins and monitor his levels. Of course, Sherlock swore up and down that John could do that from the flat but the nurse just smiled sweetly and patted his hand like he was an oversized lap dog.

He’d looked to John for help but the doctor hadn’t seemed to take his side either and so he resorted to pouting. When his brother walked in, minus the labrador like DI that was usually in tow these days, he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

“As if my day couldn’t get any worse, you decided to burden us with your presence.” He grumbled but even the insult was half hearted.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his younger brother before turning to John. “I assume you’re both doing well then?”

Most of John’s injuries had been treated when they’d been rushed to the hospital the first time round, so this visit had been all about Sherlock. He was leaning back in one of the hospital chairs, his bandaged on arms crisp and clean, just replaced. Chuckling softly John nodded, “Yeah we’re fine. Turns out there was no real permanent damage to either of us, nothing of consequence anyways.” Though Sherlock had made it very clear scars were permanent and did count. Jerking his head toward the miffed ginger he continued, “He’s just a little worked up right now. They’re still working everything out of his system.”

That was an understatement. The couple had slept for close to eleven hours when John awoke from Sherlock writhing in his sleep, and as soon as John had woke him it became evident he was going through withdrawals. Surprisingly it had been easier to convince Sherlock to go to the hospital in this state, his mind too addled to coherently voice his refusal.

Cocking his head to the side Mycroft gave John a look that could only be seen as condescending. “Honestly John? And you think he’d be more amiable if he was in good health?” Shaking his head he turned back to Sherlock.

“They recovered Moriarty’s body from the Thames, it washed up on shore a little ways down. A full autopsy has been performed, and it appears the man was plagued by Alzheimers, that of course explains the sudden need to find the best and brightest.” Mycroft said this as if it was basic knowledge, John popped up from his chair to stand beside the elder Holmes, looking back   
and forth between the two.

“What do you mean? The man was a lunatic, how does that explain anything?” John’s brows pinched together slightly as he waited for one of them to explain.

“It means John,” Sherlock said, as if explaining why two and two together was four, “that his mind would have deteriorated slowly, effectively losing his mind piece by piece. I’m sure you can imagine what that would do to someone with a mind like mine.” Sherlock swallowed at the unintentional comparison to himself and covered his uncomfort by rolling his eyes as if John was the most daft man in the world.

“He wanted to find someone to carry on his legacy. He wanted someone as cunning and ruthless as himself to continue on the name of Moriarty and the consulting criminal. But, on the other hand, if things ended with a less than expected result, at least he was dying his way and not slowly slipping away. That would be a horrible way to die.” He suppressed a shudder, and finally looked back at the two.

“If that’s all you came for Mycroft, I think John is company enough for me up here. You would have them keep me an extra two days if you could and I won’t be having any of that.” He crossed his arms like a petulant child and glared at his brother through half lidded eyes. Just then there was a knock on the door.

“I’m here to put in your IV Mr. Holmes!” Came a bright voice from the cracked hospital door. Sherlock looked at John, his eyebrows drawn together and lips curved down slightly. Do I really have to do this? However, when he found no sympathy, he sighed and called for the nurse to come in.

As the young woman bustled in and began preparing the IV Mycroft gave Sherlock a placating smile. "I came by to check on you brother, make sure you were being taken care of. I wouldn't dream of making your stay any longer than necessary. Might be considered cruel and unusual punishment to the poor staff." The young woman stopped and stared between the men for a moment, slightly caught off guard by the statement. Sherlock simply threw out his arm, desperate for it to all be over.

Unperturbed Mycroft went on in the same bored drawl. "You know Mummy heard of everything that happened... She's very worried. When you are free of this place I must insist you go visit her."

John who had been watching the phlebotomist out of habit, making sure she was mindful of the damage already there in the crook of his arm, popped up at this. He had only met 'Mummy Holmes' once before, and under rather terrible circumstances. "That would be lo-"

"Absolutely not." He said, cutting off John’s words. Sherlock wasn't looking at either of them, instead he was staring out the window. "As much as mummy wants to see me I doubt she wants to see her son strung out on drugs. No. Absolutely not. Not until I'm...." He trailed off trying to think of the right word.

"Better." He finished flatly.

"I will hold you to that." Mycroft deadpanned before giving John a small nod and turning on his heel from the room. If possible the girl now adjusting the IV bags looked even more nervous with Mycroft gone.

John waited the few extra seconds as she finished and rushed out after Mycroft, muttering to call the nurses if we needed anything. Once it was just him and Sherlock he stepped closer, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I know it's not the best circumstances, but I'm sure she'd really like to see you." His brow furrowed as he met defiant green eyes.

"I mean did she even know that you weren't dead the past three years? When was the last time you saw her?" John knew it had to have been before his ‘death’, even if she'd known Sherlock wouldn't have risked seeing anyone. He didn't know the woman very well but she had been incredibly kind to him and John felt they owed her that much.

Sherlock let out a small growl of irritation as he ran his hands through his hair, bandaged fingers on his left hand making it difficult for him. When he had calmed a little, he returned his attention to John. His eyes were sharp and irritated, but there was a small warmth beneath it, belying that he appreciated Johns concern, even just minimally.

"John, I know you have this incessant need to talk about every small detail but I do not want to talk about this now. My decision is final." He looked away again, tried to cross his arms and grew frustrated again when he couldn't because of the IV. He settled for steepling them under his chin and tried to calm his irate mind.

John’s mouth opened, as if he might try and argue, gearing up to present the case for letting his mother come see him and cut his line of thinking without even opening his eyes. "John, don't pester me, I'm sick, look I've got an IV and everything..."

Shaking his head John snapped his jaw closed, he’d drop the subject, for now. It probably wasn’t best to engage Sherlock at this point anyways. Dragging the closest chair over to sit beside the white hospital cot John settled in for the evening. He pulled out a tattered novel, the same one he’d been reading the night Sherlock had turned up on the stoop. Odd as it was things finally seemed to be falling into place.

Doctors came in and out checking on Sherlock, the nurses made their rounds observing his vitals and asking him about the pain and symptoms, and after a long time, Sherlock seemed to be relaxing. His eyes were beginning to drift when he finally shifted over on his side to watch the doctor read.

“You’ve not finished it yet.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Peeking over the top of his book a wry smile found its way to John’s lips. “I’ve been a bit busy as of late, so no I hadn’t finished.”

“Read to me?” The slight questioning tone at the end was only to keep it from sounding like a demand as he pillowed his head on one hand, the other extended to keep the IV from digging into his veins. His eyes were heavy, but he wanted to hear John’s voice as he drifted off. He’d spent too much time worrying he’d never hear it again to spend the rest of his time in silence.

Letting the book drop slightly he studied Sherlock carefully. “You sure?” The book was a Hercule Poirot mystery novel, something Sherlock was sure to deduce a few pages in and berate John for spending time with in the first place. He was holding the book open with his thumb, cradling the spine in his hand. Letting the hand holding up the book drop to his lap he leaned forward a bit, his free hand reaching for the remote on the other side of Sherlock. “I can turn on the telly if it’s too quiet.”

“John.” he stopped the hand as it reached across him, catching it with the one not tucked beneath his head, “If I had wanted the telly on, I would have said so.” He wasn’t looking at the blonde, his eyes were closed as if he didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore as he pulled the hand back down against the mattress.

“I’ve asked for you to read to me. If you do not wish to, you merely have to say so.” His fingers curled over John’s slightly, unwilling to break the contact just yet, “However if you refuse, know I will bother you until you do.”

John’s lips quirked to the side slightly in amusement, the familiar snarky attitude was almost reassuring at this point. Lacing his fingers up through Sherlock’s he flipped back to the first page and began reading and after no time John could see him relaxing, his fingers laxed in John’s and his brow softened. He was happy to take him away from the dreary hospital room, even if it was just for a short while.

The timbre of John’s voice had almost instantly put the detective into a dreamy half sleep, and he felt the fingers tighten around his when John thought he had fallen into slumber. He was glad to hear him continue to read anyway, and felt his lips curling upwards. He didn’t have the consciousness to stop it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. So, with John reading aloud to him and their fingers twined together, Sherlock fell into his first dreamless sleep since waking up Christmas Eve morning.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

“John I am not an invalid! I can quite manage the stairs on my own without you coddling me!” 

The detective shook John’s hand off his arm and burst through the door to 221B and gulped down the familiar smell of books and chemicals. Carefully he slipped his coat off of his arms and hung it up on the peg next to his belstaff and ran his fingers along the edge of the bandage they’d placed on his burn. He’d contracted an infection while in the hospital thank to his immune system being practically as exhausted as he had been due to the cocaine. They’d kept him for two more days until the infection had been cleared. He had almost murdered someone out of boredom.

John had been his only saving grace, bringing books to read him and card games that usually ended with Sherlock tossing the cards across the room. Now he sank into his familiar chair and relaxed bonelessly into the familiar feel of it for a moment before lifting his violin from where it sat near the bookshelf. He was tuning it lovingly when John finally made it through the door with the small bag of supplies and medicine that the hospital had sent home with them. Gauze for both of their injuries, and a long list of tablets for Sherlock to take to help aid him in the coming months through his addiction and to deal with the lingering infection.

“Now all I need is a cup of tea.” he mused more to himself than John as his fingers ran up and down the strings, plinking out a familiar tune.

Leaving the bags on the sofa John moved to his own chair, falling into it softly. “May I refer to your previous statement?” John quipped as he leaned back, watching Sherlock carefully as he tried to place the melody, “What was it? ‘I am not an invalid.’ “ he mimicked playfully, slipping off his shoes. John knew in the end he would go make tea for the both of them, and he didn’t mind, because that was their normal.

He watched Sherlock for a moment more before giving up on placing the tune and standing again to make the tea. His own injuries were healing with little difficulties, the worst being the deep gash running up his right arm. The hospital had stitched it up, all he had to do really was keep the dressings clean now. Still as he walked he kept the arm bent close to his chest instinctively. Opening the fridge John let out a sad sigh, muttering to himself softly about never having milk as he turned away to turn on the electric tea pot.

Preparing their cups so all that was needed was the water, John leaned against the counter, gazing back out into the sitting room. He considered saying something, asking about what it was Sherlock was playing, how he was feeling, but decided against it. Instead he simply watched, basking in the fact that they were home. As hard as the next few months would prove to be, it was finally all over.

The plinking stopped and Sherlock looked up to find John watching him. It had been a while since he’d been under the scrutiny of the smaller man’s gaze in such a relaxed setting, and it made his chest flush to find himself being watched with such an intensity. His fingers stretched out over the neck of the violin, and he attempted to pluck a few more notes before he put it away.. 

The past few days had left little time to talk or act on their new found relationship. Now, as he sat here, watching John watching him, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to have the doctor pliant under his hands again. Was this a typical human response after such extremes?

He supposed so, and if not, John was sure to comment on it when he acted upon the desire. He tried his best to keep the lust out of his eyes as he cocked his head to the side and let the corner of his lips lift in a semblance of a smile. He’d let the doctor come to him, he’d seem less eager that way, and eager was the last thing he wanted John to assume he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join us...
> 
> Shellysbees on tumblr and twitter
> 
> Devokitsune on tumblr


	3. The Best Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut has arrived... enjoy. =)

John didn’t look away, contented to stare back at Sherlock in comfortable silence, until he heard the tea beginning to boil. Finally tearing his eyes away he poured the piping hot water over the tea bags, swirling them through the liquid by the string, willing them to steep faster. After a couple minutes he removed the bags, added to sugar to one cup, resolved to drink his own black, and headed for the sitting room. Setting his own cup next to his armchair he looked back to Sherlock and took a few quick steps so he was standing just inches from the green chair. He silently held out the steaming cup out to the detective who had been watching him so intently.

Sherlock had watched John make tea a hundred times before, but this time it seemed different. Not only was Sherlock impatient but he could see the tell tale signs that John was too. That thought alone made everything more interesting, and when the blonde finally closed the distance, he had to fight to keep the smirk off of his face. When he took the cup, his fingers brushed along John’s knuckles, but his eyes never broke contact as he set it aside. Once both hands were free, they raised to John’s hips, squeezing lightly once they found purchase there. He gave a soft pull, drawing the smaller man into his lap and consequently into his arms. They looped easily around John’s broad shoulders, and long fingers began softly kneading at the muscles.

“We’re alone now.”

John’s own hands fell to grip Sherlock’s hips softly as he nestled his nose against the detective’s neck, his lips finding purchase there for a moment before he responded. “I may not be the world’s only consulting detective, but I did manage to notice that we’re finally alone.”

Desire was quickly pooling at the pit of John’s stomach as his lips brushed up the side of Sherlock’s neck and along his jaw, not stopping long in any one spot. Tugging the edge of the flannel shirt up on one side John teased the soft skin where his hip dipped inward with his thumb. Brushing his nose against Sherlock’s he spoke again, his voice deep, altered by his own desires, “Are you bored already? Perhaps I should go find cluedo?”

“Don’t you dare.” he growled, his eyes flying open to narrow his eyes at John. A hand snaked up to thread through the older man’s hair, tipping his head back forcefully so Sherlock could nip sharply on the hollow of his throat.

“Fortunately I have someone to keep my boredom at bay. Tell me John, is it my turn to play doctor?” he drug his lips up to the blonde’s ear, “Do I get to strip you down and examine you?” His tongue traced the shell of John’s ear as the hand on his hip slid around to the small of his back to rock their hips together.

John let out a soft groan before bearing down into the soft cushion with his knees to work open the flannel shirt. This proved to be more difficult than he’d expected as his fingers fumbled with the buttons. The heat of Sherlock’s mouth working it’s way across his skin was almost too distracting, but he managed.

Soon enough John had worked open the soft purple shirt and pushed it from detectives shoulders. Sitting back he admired Sherlock, greedily letting his eyes dance across his body before dipping back down against his neck, softly and biting at the skin softly, working his way up until their lips met.

John tried to keep things slow, he really did. The last time had been so desperate and fleeting he figured it was only right that they slowed down. 

It didn’t work. 

Something about the insanity of the past week made any logical thought disappear as their kiss deepened. His hands worked their way back down Sherlock’s chest, one slipping around his back to pull their bodies closer together as the other fell back to his hip. John let his fingers skirt along the waistband of Sherlock’s jeans, brushing at the sensitive skin suggestively as his tongue ran across the others lower lip.

“Whenever you’re ready, doctor.” John finally murmured against Sherlock’s lips with a soft chuckle. He hadn’t taken Sherlock for one to play games like this, but he had to admit he was quite enjoying it.

Sherlock hummed contentedly before his fingers slid up and over John's shoulders. The war of eagerness and desire to take things slow waging within John was obvious, and he smirked as his long fingers popped the first button agonizingly slow.

"What am I treating you for?" He asked, fingertips slowly tracing down the exposed skin to the next button. A soft noise, almost a groan, escaped John’s lips as he realized Sherlock’s intent, but he continued the slow process, popping each button through with his thumb as he came across them. 

"An upset stomach, or perhaps chest pains?" Once he'd made it all the way to John's trouser line, he pulled the shirt free, and let his fingers curl around his sides, warm hands slipping beneath the fabric.

His lips began to assault John’s collar bones, nipping and sucking small lovemarks around the dark ones already there. "It looks like you've been abusing your body. These marks are dark..." He nipped playfully at one of the bruises and soothed it with his tongue, "you need to take better care of yourself." His words were a feather light whisper against one dusty rose nipple before his tongue came out to trace the hardened nub.

John rolled head back and arched his back, his body desperate for more. Between sharp breaths he managed to mutter, “Great deduction.” He was halted as Sherlock moved to the other side of his chest, teasing the other nipple hard. The sudden sparks of pleasure caused John to shudder slightly before he could speak again. 

“Was rather hoping you’d take care of me.” His words dripped with implication as he rolled his hips against the detectives, toying with the button of trousers with one hand.

A low noise rolled through Sherlock's chest, he knew John was asking for so much more than his immediate needs, and luckily he was saved from answering too deeply by the hand fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans.

"If I'm to take care of you, you have to let me work." He muttered, brushing the hand away and capturing both of them with his left, clasping them together in the small of his back. John wriggled softly, surprised by the sudden dominance, but Sherlock was quick to answer his wordless question, "Can't have you interfering with my exam now can we?" His tone was light, but his eyes burned with intense passion as he returned to nibbling his way down John's rib cage, slowly pushing John back as he did so. When he reached his belt line, a warm tongue ran just under the edge of John’s jeans before pushing against his back and arms, enticing him to sit up on his knees.

He groaned as John more than willingly complied. His right hand came up and flicked the button open easily, tugging the zipper down with a little more urgency than the lazy kisses he'd been giving before. John leaned his head back, letting out a soft moan. His member seemed to strain forward, begging for the detective's attention. Attention he had every intention of bestowing.

"Why John I didn't know you could be so excited by so little." He murmured, his eyes taking in the sight of his erection as it slipped through the slit in his pants, positively dripping with need, "I had expected more resilience from you...." His last snarky dig was given, and he surged forward slightly, taking the head of John’s cock into his mouth, eager for the experimenting to begin. Sherlock knew people assumed, if he were sexual at all, he would be a selfish lover, but his desire to be flawless did not stop with his deductions.

Lips parted, John's head tipped forward watching in awe. Their eyes met for a moment before Sherlock's fell closed, humming seductively against the others member. All thoughts of their game faded from Johns mind as the detectives tongue swirled around the sensitive glan.

Writhing in Sherlocks grasp John drew his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down harder than entirely necessary. The detectives eyes flitted up again watching Johns reaction as his cheeks hollowed, slowly taking in his length.

The reaction was instantaneous. "Jesus Sherlock," he moaned slowly, forcing his hips to still even as his body begged him to press forward into that delicious moist heat. 

Not able to resist the taunt, the detective flattened his hand against John's pelvis, his thumb and forefinger encircling the shaft tightly as he pulled his mouth from it with a small pop.

"Just Sherlock will do." His tone was light, and he looked up into John's face, their eyes locked as his fingers gripped the base, delivering a long delicious stroke up the hardened flesh. A pink tongue came out to swipe some stray saliva from his lower lip as he gauged John's reactions, fingers changing slightly in grip and position until he found one that made John positively putty in his hands.

Finally, his left released John's wrists in favor of sliding the denim down over his backside, and in a spontaneous move, he wrapped his left arm around his back and his right arm under one thigh as he pushed him down to the floor. A simple rock of their weight and he was on top of the soldier, splitting his legs around his hips and nipping at his ribs, fingers still lazily stroking him. Entranced by the attention John lay back, silent and still, his limbs splayed out on the floor as his chest rose and fell shakily.

Kissing his way back up to his ear, Sherlock laved over the flesh, letting the smaller man hear the harsh pants that were coming from him now before he spoke. "I want to find out what makes you tick John. I want to open you up and discover how you function..." He inwardly chuckled at himself, the dirty talk of a genius was interesting indeed.

Those words should not have had such an effect on John, but of course they did. He wasn’t sure if it was the sultry tone or just knowing that all of Sherlock’s attention was focused on him, but he shivered involuntarily all the same. He arched his neck back slightly, opening up the area to be explored, as he whispered, “Promise?” There hadn’t been much forethought to the question, but John was finding the idea of the detective meticulously working out everything about him, likely things he wasn’t even aware of, ridiculously alluring.

The detective smirked at the question, "Fact." He said simply letting his hands move from John's arousal to begin exploring. As he did, he murmured little things about how John likes his nipples played with, and how he could tell because of how loose he kept his clothing. "So you don't get aroused in public." He stated.

Yes, John thought to himself as the rapid deductions washed over him, having Sherlock’s full attention was definitely something he could get used to. Realizing his hands were free he began exploring the detectives body. The stronger hand grazed down Sherlock’s back, blindly tracing the soft scars he’d yet to explore but knew were there, while his weaker arm laced through the ginger hair. Gripping at it softly he pulled the younger man back slightly, placing a languid kiss to his lips.

Sherlock had kept up the string of deductions until he was pulled into a long kiss that sent his blood rushing through his veins. John's tongue in his mouth was fueling him higher, and he knew that he couldn't get lost in those kisses if he wanted to obtain all the information he'd set out to find.

Pulling back, his breath puffed over John's face as he centered himself. "Stop distracting me." He said simply, and then his hands were pulling the jeans all the way off, leaving John practically naked for him. The rug beneath them pulled taught as Sherlock slid his hips backwards, his shoulders now even with John's pelvis. "I'm afraid things went a little fast last time, and I'll not deny that the thought of driving you insane without the limits of my own stamina is one I desire to experiment with." One hand lifted to John's mouth, fingers pressing insistently at his lips.

"Open." Came the short command as his own mouth followed suit, letting his tongue glide over the sensitive skin on the underside of John's arousal.

 

John barely had time to consider what exactly Sherlock meant by experiment before the command was spoke. He quickly obliged, his lips parted easily and as the cool fingers slipped in he closed his lips tightly around them. Sucking softly the doctor swept his tongue across the digits, amazed by the dual sensation.

His tongue swirled between the fingers, only to stop as Sherlock’s tongue managed to do something to his cock unbeknownst to John, that left him gasping. His jaw fell open, the long fingers not nestled in his mouth were wrapped delicately around his bottom jaw. John wondered for a moment where Sherlock had learned this, but he quickly decided he didn’t want to know. His thoughts didn’t last long anyways as it seemed the detective was quickly figuring out exactly how to pick apart his blogger. Nipping softly at the fingers in his mouth John moaned as his back arched, pressing his body closer to Sherlocks.

To say that Sherlock was unaffected by the situation was a blatant lie. Feeling the doctor coming undone beneath his ministrations was intoxicating, and Sherlock knew that he was slowly replacing his other addictions with more of John the longer they spent in each other’s arms. Finally he pulled his fingers away, the subliminal pleasure too much to bear and his soft groan echoed John’s at the loss of contact.

Sweet reassurances fell from his lips across John’s hips almost thoughtlessly as his spit slick fingers traveled down to circled the tight sensitive bud. He took the head of the other’s manhood in his mouth as one digit slowly slid inside of the blonde. He had been prepared once, and it was barely sufficient then. Sherlock would have him writhing before he allowed himself the pleasure of sinking into that tight heat this time.

John’s body didn’t tense quite as much as before, now that he knew what to expect. A small hiss escaped his lips, slowly giving way to a guttural moan as Sherlock expertly worked his way in, teasing just enough to keep John distracted. One hand softly threaded through Sherlock’s hair as his neck arched back. The detectives name rolled off his tongue like a mantra as he gradually relaxed.

He was slow, and diligent, and when the finger was finally seated fully inside of him, he allowed him a few moments, waiting for the tell tale squirming before he pulled it out slowly, almost completely and pressed back in. The long digit crooked on the outwards stroke as he set up a lazy pace, searching for the bundle of nerves that he knew would relax the doctor in an instant and reduce him to a quivering, pleading heap.

It wasn’t long before Johns body writhed, his hips thrusting upward indicating that Sherlock found what he was looking for. The fingers in Sherlock’s hair gripped desperately as a deep guttural moan ripped from his chest. 

“Sherlock...” John’s voice was deep as he lifted his head to gape down at the ginger, his bottom lip caught between his teeth keeping him from moaning again from the sight alone. 

The hum that vibrated through his throat and down the other man’s cock almost sounded like a question. It was as if he was asking what the smaller man wanted. When his eyes rose to meet the blue ones above him, they were sharp and observant. He knew what John wanted, but he wanted to hear it.

Feeling particularly wicked, he relaxed his jaw, letting the shaft slide further into his mouth as he replaced one finger with two on the next in stroke. Taking John deep in his throat,he let his saliva build up so that it slid down to better lubricate his ministrations. The smaller man’s head fell back to the floor with a soft thud as his hips rolled into the detectives hand.

His own arousal was becoming unbearable as the doctor responded so well under his skillful hands. The desire to just bury himself deep inside was overwhelming, but feeling John squirming beneath him was a pleasure all it’s own.

John wasn’t sure he could handle much more. Sherlock seemed to have worked him out, he knew exactly just how far to push him so he was teetering on the edge, overwhelmed . Moans of pleasure were readily falling from his tongue now, mixed with attempts at speech. “Sh’lock... please...” The plea was almost a growl, as his hand fell listlessly to the carpet, unable to keep any sort of focus. 

That simple plea was all it took to break the careful concentration Sherlock had been employing to make sure John was open and ready for this. He pulled his fingers out of John, and smirked softly at the sound of disappointment he heard from beneath him. He rocked back onto his heels, for a moment before standing.

“Stay.” He said shortly.

John barely had time to question Sherlock’s motives before he returned with the bottle of lube. Sherlock made quick work of his trousers, sliding them down his hips along with his pants before kicking them, and his shoes, off. The man beneath him watched greedily as Sherlock finally freed himself. A soft pink tongue traced along his lips, eyes blown with desire.

Once divested of the last barrier between them, he pressed between John’s legs once more, verdigris eyes watching him as he popped open the lube. Once he was sure he was slick enough, his hands moved to lift both of the doctor’s knees to his shoulders. The smooth skin pressed against his stubbled face as he slowly lined himself up and let his body sink into John’s. A low guttural groan ripped it’s way through his chest, and as he leaned forward to kiss the blonde beneath him, it rocked John’s body into a position that did hell on his nerves.

The first small thrust was experimental, and as tendrils of pleasure shot up his spine, his next thrust was not so gentle. It felt like John was surrounding him completely, and his mind that had been chattering nonstop since he’d checked in to the hospital, went blissfully silent. ”John...” he moaned softly, their eyes meeting once more as he pulled out almost completely before pressing back in as deep as he could go.

Gripping Sherlock’s hip with one hand, encouragingly pulling him in, John stroked himself in time with their thrusts. He kept their gaze locked as long as he could, but eventually it all became too much and his eyes fluttered shut as he breathed out Sherlock’s name.

When John felt the desire coiling deep inside of him he stilled his hand, fingers digging into the back of Sherlock’s thigh. His eyes flew open once again, catching Sherlock’s as the world began to fade. He gave Sherlock a small nod, permission to take what he wanted and a desperate plea for him to give everything.

“Come on Sherlock.” he groaned encouragingly, his nails biting softly into his skin.

It sent a spiral of unreadable pleasure low into Sherlock’s stomach. With a animalistic noise low in his throat, Sherlock nipped at the inside of the doctor’s thigh sharply before hooking his thumbs around his knees and pushing them back to his chest.

The angle allowed him to slam directly into John’s prostate with each rough thrust, not to mention the pleasant way it allowed Sherlock to slip completely inside of him. The tightness was maddening as he gripped tightly where his hands had stayed on the backs of John’s knees. His hips were pistoning with a force he hadn’t known he’d had, and three words repeated through his mind. John... mine... take... take. mine!

 

His breath was heavy and hot as his eyes traveled down where their bodies met. The sight was so dirty and sinful that he found his teeth grit together to keep him from babbling incessantly. His mind was so full of John and his illegally tantalizing body, that he came to the precipice much quicker than he intended. A thin hand left John’s leg to reach between them and stroke his throbbing cock in time with his thrusts.

“John...” he panted, silently expressing with his eyes how close he was and how much he needed the man to come with him.

A devilish grin pulled at Johns lips. He was finally seeing Sherlock absolutely aching for release and damn him to hell if it wasn’t the more gorgeous sight he’d ever seen. It dawned on him why Sherlock wanted to find out how he ticked. Seeing the man above him falling to pieces was utterly intoxicating.

“Fuck Sherlock.” He cried, pressing back into the thrusts.

It only took a few simultaneous thrusts from Sherlock before John was writhing in ecstasy. One arm left Sherlock’s thigh as he reached his peak to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. White lights flashed behind John’s eyes as he began to spill out over Sherlock’s hand still working on his member.

As the orgasm crashed over him John snaked the arm thrown across his face up to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling their bodies closer together. His expression had changed to something feral. His voice was a thick growl when he spoke.

“Come. Now.” 

John was using his officer voice. Sherlock had become familiar with that tone from the HOUND case. It was authoritative, non nonsense and demanded to be obeyed. So Sherlock did.

A shuddering moan gurgled from his throat as he pressed all of his weight into John, toes flexing, trying to push himself deeper than before as all his muscles tensed. His orgasm ripped almost painfully through his body, every one of his nerve endings lit up as he poured into the smaller man. When his muscles began to relax, soft tremors wound their way up his spine, forcing him to collapse on top of the blonde in a quivering heap of bliss. His lips lazily found John's and he held him there in the post coital haze, kissing him chastely, unwilling to give even an inch of room until he came down from his adrenaline high.

The couple lay there for a few minutes in a hot, sticky mess of limbs until John began moving beneath the detective. He knew he’d be paying for their choice of venue by morning, it’d been worth it of course. Rolling Sherlock to the side he sat up a little to grin sheepishly down at the younger man, their legs still intertwined

“Welcome home, detective.” His voice was playful, but one hand rubbed at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

Sherlock grunted noncommittally in response, burrowing back into the warmth of John's body, tucking his chin down and his forehead against the doctor's chest. One arm looped over his waist and splayed his fingers over the warm skin of his back.

"I suppose it wasn't tea I needed..." He said offhandedly, "care for a nap?"


	4. Rise Above This

The next few weeks were anything but easy. John went back to volunteering at the clinic, making it easier to duck out when Sherlock’s health deemed it necessary. The only thing that seemed to really change between the two was the intimacy of their relationship. Which meant after no time they fell back into a regular routine, but outside of, and to John’s dismay occasionally in, bed they were plagued by Sherlock’s demons.

One day John received a call from Lestrade, apparently he had been trying to get ahold of the detective for a few days about a case. Of course, Sherlock had spent the past three days defiling their kitchen sink with god knows what. It took half the evening and a ridiculous outburst, reminiscent of a petulant child before he told John why he’d been ignoring Lestrade.

“If I’d left well enough alone before we never would have gotten mixed up in that!” Their argument had moved to the sitting room and he was leering over John defensively, almost nose to nose. “I wasn’t well enough. If I had been I would have never fallen for his trap. I can’t let you get hurt again.” The last sentence was quiet, spoken just loud enough for John to hear before he stalked back to the green armchair, collapsing into it with a huff. “It’s just temporary anyways. I fully intend to return to the work, I just need to be sure I’m in full control of my facilities when we do.”

The withdrawals were terrible for the both of them. It wasn’t just the desire for the drugs that bothered Sherlock, it was the fact that he wasn’t in full control of his mind. John tried to help, but the detectives fuse was particularly short, and even John’s mild manner could only be cooped up for so long. Their hiatus from the Yard and cases didn’t even last to the end of the month. John didn’t mind in the least, he appreciated what Sherlock had been trying to do, to protect them, but even he was itching to get out.

One particularly bad episode had left Sherlock unable to sleep due to the horrific nightmares that not even sleeping curled up in John’s arms could cure. After waking up to Sherlock pacing furiously, John had stayed up with him for the next few days, catching a few blessed minutes of sleep when Sherlock would shower, or be preoccupied watching crap telly.

Sherlock finally made John sleep by promising to try to do so himself, and laying down beside him at night. However, he ended up just laying awake, brushing John’s hair until he fell asleep, and then would slip out of his arms to play his violin quietly, composing something new, or to work on quiet and hazardless experiments.

 

The second time Sherlock left the doctor’s side in the middle of the night John came out to find the detective sprawled out on the small sofa, seemingly utterly unconscious. There was a small sheen of sweat across his brow and the stradivarius was abandoned on the floor, where his lax hand had dropped it. John tucked a blanket around him and lifted his head, placing the union jack pillow beneath it before brushing the hair from his forehead. His roots were growing in dark brown and the curls were almost back to how they’d been before, the sight made John smile softly. 

Absolutely ruined, the detective slept for twelve hours after that attack. That was the night John suggested attending rehab meetings.

Sherlock had refused at first of course, but John didn't let it go. Finally after another fit of sleepless nights and worrying the other man, the detective finally agreed. The night of his first meeting he was getting ready to leave and saw John slipping his jacket on as well. A shake of the head stopped him, and Sherlock refused to let him come. This was something he needed to do on his own.

However, a few weeks later when he came home from the meeting early, John’s worries were confirmed. He’d been kicked out for being a snarky sod. After a few moments of angry ramblings in which Sherlock made his case by countering with things like “She was the one that was a prostitute John. I merely pointed out that her last client had lied about his STD and that she should get checked.” But luckily with much grovelling, and a promise that he would be attending with Sherlock for all future meetings, they were allowed to return.

They seemed to help, and his temperament improved even though he only viewed going to the meetings as a way to put John at ease, and as observation. Although their life sometimes felt like a complete mess, they had their good days. More particularly there were days when John managed to stop acting like his doctor, and Sherlock slowed down enough to consider the relationship they had entered.

John knew it was Valentine’s Day, it was bloody impossible to miss, what with the traffic and the pink and red hearts taped to every shop window, which Sherlock had been quick to point out were terribly misinformative, but he wasn’t expecting anything. In fact, if anything, he had pointedly avoided the subject. Hearts, affection, sentiment. Sherlock had changed, but the last thing John wanted to do was frighten him off.

They were still just John and Sherlock. Their relationship had morphed so certain titles almost fit, partners, boyfriends, but no title had ever really fit anyways. They hadn’t discussed what this was since that first night. John wasn’t going to bring it up again, and he wasn’t going to put any stipulations on Sherlock.

With that in mind John had resigned himself to having a night in. Half way into the quiet evening Sherlock stormed out in an apparent snit only to return an hour and a half later with a bottle of wine and a box of the chocolate biscuits that John liked. He’d carried in a paper sack and eyed John carefully before sprinting into the kitchen and snapping any time John tried to join him. Finally he returned with the plate of biscuits and two glasses of wine. He’d pulled John onto the couch with him and put in one of those ghastly american action movies that John loved so much, and they’d spent the evening wrapped up with each other, sharing sweet kisses. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, but when Sherlock woke an hour later, he’d half carried the drowsy doctor to bed where they’d snuggled up together and slept late the next day.

Sherlock might not be emotionally stable or understanding, but he had known from the moment John had noticed that it was Valentines Day what he’d wanted, and it was the least he could do to put a smile on his face after all he’d been through.

Even after Valentine’s Day Sherlock continued to improve, and after a few months, he had filled out and there was almost no physical evidence of his addiction. He still had nightmares occasionally, but for the most part, life had returned to normal, well as normal as it got with Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft had been able to put off the trial regarding the apparent murders for a short while, long enough for Sherlock to be able to come in and make his case to a lower level judge without displaying such obvious signs of withdrawal. It had all been for show of course. Mycroft had been very careful in picking a judge to deal with the cases, to be sure that they would rule in favor of his brother. 

They were between cases, and Sherlock was at that point where he was mildly bored before being violent, and he was staring at John from across the room with a hungry look full of promises when there came a knock on the door. John couldn’t help but chuckle as he shot Sherlock an apologetic glance before heading down to get the door. He was sure the detective would have rather ignored whoever it was, the aversion to emotions and sentiment did not affect his libido in the least. When the mood struck he could be down right insatiable.

John nearly choked when he opened the door. His mind had wandered on him, replaying the previous nights activities. So when he found one Mycroft Holmes waiting rather impatiently on the stoop his mind came to a screeching halt. He quickly recovered, remembering that they had been waiting to hear from Mycroft since Sherlock’s meeting with the judge.

“Do we have a verdict?” His brows were furrowed slightly, hoping that that was all this was, he really didn’t want to deal with sibling rivalries or any government problem Mycroft could offer. More importantly he didn’t want Sherlock getting involved in any government deals, it never ended well. He could deal with sibling rivalry. It only led to some sulking, besides John had found faster ways to deal with sulks as of late. 

“All’s well Doctor Watson.” He fished an envelope from his pocket and passed it to John. “Cleared of all charges, so I’ve come to collect. Sherlock’s doing better I understand?” 

Everything about Mycroft’s demeanour was challenging, from his tone, to his raised eyebrow, to the way he leaned forward slightly on the tip of his umbrella. John’s lips pressed together tightly, and that only confirmed his assumptions. “Lovely.”

Sweeping past John he made his way up the stairs.

“Mycroft...” Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. His brother would suffer dearly for interrupting the delicious plans he’d had for the doctor. Oh his brother would pay.

“I told you I’d hold you to your word. I’ve dealt with all of your transgressions, including covering up the Adler woman's death, yet again. You’re obviously doing well enough.” The last word dripped from his tongue as his eyes swept across the flat accusingly. John’s gaze followed the elder Holmes, trying to see what incriminating evidence he was obviously seeing, it eluded him. 

Mycroft’s gaze snapped back to his younger brother, a certain air of mirth as he continued. “Friday. Seven o’clock. Mummy will be expecting you and John.”

“I’m still not exactly well Mycroft.” Sherlock said with disdain, “We’ll not be there. Give Mummy my apologies.” He turned his back on Mycroft, showing that the conversation was over.

“She’ll be rather disappointed.” Mycroft deadpanned as he turned away, his words weren’t meant for the detective anyways. His eyes locked with John, he knew who the guilt would eat at, and it wasn’t Sherlock. “I expect you’ll find time soon enough.”

He gave John a pointed look before heading toward the door, obviously not interested in engaging Sherlock further. He’d done all he needed to be sure Sherlock would visit their mother. Not this weekend perhaps, but he would. The door clicked behind Mycroft almost defiantly as John’s eyes bore into the back of a rather defiant Sherlock. 

 

“Why won’t you go see her?” His voice was calm and curious, careful to keep any accusations out of his tone. Things had been delightfully good between the two of them and he didn’t want to upset their delicate balance. 

Sherlock didn’t exactly know how to respond to the question. Part of it was his childish resilience to anything Mycroft wanted of him, but that wasn’t it. For some reason taking John to meet his mother seemed so intense. None of his friends or coworkers had ever met his mother before. Most of them assumed he’d been grown in a test tube and that Mycroft was just a guard dog.

Part of him also was hesitant to face her after all of the shenanigans surrounding his fake suicide. If she had in fact believed he was dead, she would be cross, and if not, Mycroft surely would have told her all about John, like the tattle tale he was, and she would still be cross. Even as a grown man his mother cross was a frightening thing. Her temper was like that of Aphrodite, once she was mad, you would be punished, even if she had to chase you down herself. The infuriating thing was, no matter how hard you tried to frazzle her, she would get upset yes, but not a hair would ever be out of place.

“Because I’m not ready yet John.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, and he sat up, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and looking at the other man, “Why are you so insistent?”

It did strike him as odd that John was so eager for them to go. He didn’t know his mother, he couldn’t know if she’d been worried about him or not. Those who did know he had a mother always assumed that she was exactly like Sherlock and Mycroft. Brilliant, and cool. While she was brilliant, during his youth the detective had actually wondered if they had been adopted.

"She's very..." The words got stuck in his throat. Kind, intense, frightening. "I met her at the funeral. Well, your funeral. I wasn't exactly in my best form.... I just think it'd be the right thing to do."

This was not something he wanted to discuss. That had been the worst time for him, right after the fall. He'd gone to the funeral in a half catatonic state, been seated at the front and treated like a mourning widower. The Holmes mother had been kind, but not in a placating way like most.

Part of John's insistence had to do with doing what was right, more times than not his conscience had to work for the both of them. She had been more than accepting of how close he was to Sherlock, no questions, just an unnerving amount of support that was very Holmes. But mostly, he wanted the chance to meet her properly, considering how out of sorts he'd been last time they met.

“You want me to go visit my mother so that you can make up for first impressions?” his voice was strangely clinical and cold. He wasn’t sure why but this was something he did not want to do and he was going to dig his nails in and fight it as long as he could. He scoffed and laid back down on the couch turning his back to the doctor. All the arousal from earlier had dissipated from his body.

“No.” He said simply, and closed his eyes against the barrage he expected to come from John.

"You’ve got be kidding me. She's your mother Sherlock... You were gone for over three years. She has a right to see you." Any chance at a pleasant evening had just flown out the window. John set his jaw as he tried to rack his brain for anyway to get the child in front of him to cooperate. He had an idea, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of them. 

"If I haven't seen her in that long she is used to it and she will be alright until I feel that I am well enough to see her!" His voice was strained, and he had no idea why John was fighting so hard for this. Shouldn't it be his decision? He pulled his dressing gown tighter around him as he burrowed into the couch cushions.

“Fine.” John’s voice was clipped, obviously done with the subject, as he stomped off to gather his tea from the kitchen before sitting at the desk to work on writing up their most recent case. It had been a few days, but he’d yet to have the opportunity to sit and even think about writing. Opening the laptop he began pecking at the keyboard, his brows furrowed in thought. He knew Sherlock would be surprised by his sudden acquiesce, but that was just what he wanted.

Green eyes peered over a shoulder as John literally gave up the argument. He was mildly surprised, but thinking back he realized John had been rather accommodating to his requests lately, perhaps they were just learning how to better cope with each other.

However, Sherlock found that this wasn't the case when he started getting ready for bed. He'd meandered into the kitchen, having decided to make tea to wind his mind down before retiring, and he made John a cup as well. Tea was the closest he ever got to an apology for being difficult.

John was still pecking away at the laptop when he set the cups down on either side of him. Long arms wrapped around his waist as a curly head nuzzled against the back of his neck, light kisses pressed into his hairline. "Are you almost ready for bed?" He asked between kisses.

"Hmm?" John hummed as though he hadn't noticed the man obvious attempts at seduction. The only sign that he'd taken any notice was the small smile that pulled at his lips as took a sip of the fresh tea. He didn't move in or away from the touch, he'd let Sherlock work out his reasons.

Setting the tea down, he continued seemingly oblivious to the detectives intentions. "I'll be done soon, no need to wait up."

Sherlock blinked. Normally when he got cuddly, as John liked to call it, he was up and ready to come to bed. Those times were few and far between. Although he often woke up embracing or being embraced by the doctor, during his waking hours he was still not a very physical person. Outside of sex anyway.

He looked down at John's blonde hair, picking out the strands of gray with his eyes as he thought. Was John still upset about earlier? He wasn't displaying any of his usual signs of anger, and he seemed quite calm. Sherlock's thumb rubbed against the hard planes of the smaller man's stomach as he thought. He'd taken the tea which was usually his sign that he'd forgiven whatever minor transgression Sherlock had done, but he was being....distant.

The word struck him like a freight train and his arms recoiled almost as if burned. "Alright then. Good Night." He left his untouched tea on the desk next to John and retreated to his bedroom. He lay on the bed, his back to the door and his breathing carefully measured to look like he was sleeping, but in reality his mind was running in overdrive, trying to comprehend John's sudden change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was late, enjoy. =)


	5. The Reason

John waited until he was sure Sherlock had retreated to their room before he closed the laptop and began tidying up the room. He hadn't intended on making him wait long for him to come to bed, he just needed to make his point. It seemed, from how quickly Sherlock had pulled away, he at least knew something was wrong.

It was rather juvenile to hold sex as a bargaining chip, John knew that. Unfortunately he was dealing with a juvenile. Hopefully Sherlocks insatiable libido would be stronger than his obstinance in this case. 

Satisfied that he'd made some dent in their whirlwind of a flat, John brushed his teeth and headed off to bed. Wordlessly stripping down to his pants and a t-shirt John slid into the sheets. He placed a chaste kiss to the exposed bit of skin he could reach, right below Sherlock’s ear, and closed his eyes.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, he'd never turned Sherlock down. His best guess was one of two things; a sulk for the ages, or a painfully accurate deduction of Johns plan and a show of how sure Sherlock was of his resolve. To John’s dismay it seemed, for the night at least, Sherlock had picked the first option.

Sherlock didn’t react at all, just stayed on his side with his back to the other man. However the kiss did send his brain train careening off the track. So it was alright for John to show affection but Sherlock’s was met with indifference. What was this game John was playing? Sherlock couldn’t fathom what was going on with him. Normally it was the other way around, and the detective felt very vulnerable and confused, and he didn’t like it. He listened very carefully and when John was deep in sleep, about three minutes into his REM cycle, Sherlock sat up slowly and left the bed. He needed something to help him think.

He wasn’t allowed Nicotine patches for the time being, not with the last of his withdrawal symptoms only a few weeks behind him, so he had to settle for composing. Creating something that echoed the chaos in his mind always helped him think, but he worried that the stradivarius would not be a pleasant companion this time. He retrieved some staff paper from the stack on the shelf and set up his music stand with a mechanical pencil and his violin. Once he’d prepped the bow and tuned the instrument itself, he began to play quietly so as not to wake the older man. If the reason for his frustration were to be here in the room with him, he feared his process would be futile.

Soft somber notes flowed from the violin, and as he played his thoughts swirled around him, almost tangible. He played for a long time before they developed into something he was fairly sure could be what was plaguing the doctor. Whilst discussing his mother, John had made mention of Sherlock’s funeral. Perhaps something had sparked a reaction within the man that made him keep his distance. Had the gentle kiss when he’d finally retired been an attempt to soothe his abrupt reaction to the looming unresolved issues between them? Sherlock wasn’t stupid. He’d seen all the questions John had asked him since his return were still hanging between them, even after the near death experience. There hadn’t really been a good time to talk about them, and Sherlock wasn’t sure he wanted to yet, but here they were rearing their ugly heads in his face.

With a soft, aggravated noise, Sherlock ran the hand with the bow in it through his curly hair, tugging at the locks in frustration. He didn’t know how to do this, this relationship thing, he was so lost. He’d tried using past experiences to formulate some sort of contingency plan, but none of it was compatible with his current situation. Laying his violin down in his chair, he sat in John’s, the union jack pillow wedged between his legs and chest as he pulled his feet up into the seat.

Being out of his element was new for him, and he wasn’t taking it well. He stayed in the chair for a long time, trying to get his mind to calm down. He even cleared the cups away and put them in the sink before making himself another cup of tea, catching the kettle before it whistled. He took a few sips, but it was in John’s chair, the small pillow wedged down beside him that he stayed until morning broke through the small windows into the flat, and Sherlock could hear the noises of John beginning to wake. He noticed that the tea in his mostly full cup was ice cold, but his stiff limbs refused to obey him, so he stayed there, staring at the wall, his mind never ceasing.

John wasn’t particularly surprised to find the bed empty as he rolled into consciousness. It was a common occurrence on a good day for Sherlock to disappear during the night, normally to another room in the flat, occasionally to the depths of London. But today, John thought as the memories of the previous evening trickled back, was probably going to be a bit not good. Slipping on a pair of loose sweatpants he made his way out into the sitting room.

Tea was always the first thing on John’s list in the morning, so he barely noticed that Sherlock was curled into his own chair until after he’d started the pot and ventured back into the sitting room. His hand carded through the wrecked curls absentmindedly as he walked past.

“You get any sleep last night?” Moving the stradivarius to lay across the desk John fell into Sherlock’s chair, waiting for the tell tale whistle of the tea pot. The faint color surrounding the green eyes and the forgotten cup of tea told John he hadn’t, but that was the only answer he received.

Sherlock was staring past John, into the wall behind him, so he rattled on. “Lestrade still doesn’t have any suitable cases, but the websites getting busy again. I’m not working today so I’ll see what I can find there.” Still nothing. 

Shaking his head John went to finish his tea, a soft whistle emanating from the kitchen. He grabbed Sherlock’s ice cold cup to refill on the way. He didn’t bother asking, obviously he wasn’t going to get a response. He returned with two cups of tea, setting one on the small table beside Sherlock, before taking a seat back in the opposite chair. 

After a few more useless attempts at conversation John gave up and went back to finishing up the blog post from the night before and responding to emails. After a while Sherlock did move, seemingly getting showered and dressed for the day, but he still didn’t say a word to John. The blonde worried, as Sherlock huffed about the flat, if he had underestimated the detectives resolve. When he finally emerged fully dressed, in the purple flannel and tight black jeans no less, he headed for the door.

“Wait.” John stumbled from the desk chair as it rolled away behind him. “Where are you going?” He definitely had not meant to drive him away. 

Sherlock stopped in the doorway and turned, pulling leather gloves over his long fingers. John looked upset that he was leaving and it made the detective furious because it was just another layer that he didn't understand.

"Out." Was all he said before briskly turning and thumping down the stairs, slamming the door hard enough behind him that Mrs. Hudson replaced him in the doorway a few moments later. John let out a groan as he ran a hand through his hair, cursing silently under his breath.

"Did you two have a bit of a domestic?" She asked moving to John's side, laying a hand on his upper arm much like a mother would.

He looked up at her and offered a smile that only reached half his features. "Yeah, something like that." Mrs. Hudson was the only one that possibly came close to understanding their relationship. He truly did love her like a mother. Laying his hand over hers he continued a bit more chipper, "We'll be fine though, nothing we can't handle." No reason to worry her needlessly. 

John considered running after him of course, but decided against it. He wouldn't go far, he never did. It was best to let him cool off.

Sure enough a few hours later he heard his phone chirp. It wasn't exactly who he had been hoping for, as the screen read GREG LESTRADE. Opening the phone he read

What the hell did you do to Sherlock? He's up here causing a fuss. Said he wanted to do some social experiments before we sent these guys on to prison he-

The text was so long it was cut into two messages.

Is in some kind of rage. I swear he made a serial rapist twice my size cry. Come get your detective before I let Donovan loose on him!

-Greg

John was already at the door shrugging on his coat and on his way out the door by the time he finished reading the message. 

What the hell did you do to Sherlock?

John hadn't meant to upset him, not like this. There was a fine line with Sherlock. He could be rude and brusque but he didn't often completely lose control. 

When the cabbie finally pulled up to the Yard John practically lunged from the vehicle, throwing a few crumpled bills over the seat. He found Lestrade waiting when the elevator opened up on the DIs floor. 

"Where is he?"

"I had to lock him in an interrogation room for his own safety." He started leading John towards the interrogation rooms, venting angrily as they walked. "After he made the rapist cry I told him he needed to go home. Told me he couldn't do that. Anderson said something stupid, and Sherlock lit into him like nothing I've ever seen. It was vicious John. I don't know what happened between you two, and frankly it's none of my business, but I can't have him coming up here terrorizing the entire force just because you two had a spat."

Donovan was standing outside the door, but the DI had the smarts not to leave her alone to guard the door, as another burly looking man was standing beside her.

Instead of leading him into the room with Sherlock, he steered him into the observation room. The large two way mirror showed Sherlock pacing in a circle around the table, his hands clasped in the small of his back. He seemed to be muttering to himself, his lips were moving but no words came out.

"As a friend, to both of you." Greg started as he pushed John down into a chair. "Is everything alright? When I asked him what was wrong, he only looked at me with his big eyes and said your name. Now emotional mumbo jumbo is not my division, but I've been dealing with a Holmes on this level a bit longer, maybe I can help?"

Lestrade might not have been a great man, and the Holmes brothers were nowhere near cookie cutter personalities, but he could definitely see similarities between this and his and Mycroft's first big row. He had been glad that he'd never planned to visit Syria, after seeing the wreckage from Mycroft's 'minor tantrum' he knew he wouldn't be able to set foot in the country without feeling guilty.

Looking back at Sherlock pacing the room John shook his head. This was not what he had intended to happen, not at all. But what was he supposed to tell Greg? 

Sherlock was refusing to see his mother so John was denying him sex, but of course he hadn't explained this to Sherlock. He just shouldered him off, ignored him, and given absolutely no explanation. It was finally dawning on John that he had expected too much of him.

"We're fine." His voice was short, but when he looked up at the DI who was obviously looking for more of an answer he dropped the bitter tone. "He... Mycroft wanted him to see their mum... Sherlock was refusing to go..." He pinched his brow between two fingers, pressing his eyes shut tight, before moving to stand. "I pushed him and obviously I shouldn't have. Can I get him now?"

John didn't look back at Lestrade as he stood, he didn't need to see whatever worry or pity lie there.

“You have to remember John.” Greg said, standing with him and placing a hand on his shoulder, “They don’t know relationships like we do. Things that seem... “ He struggled to find the right word, “Normal to us, may not compute. Hell look at the way they treat each other. Mycroft takes care of his brother by spying on him. Who does that?” He shook his head and led the blonde back out into the hallway.

“Just be careful.” he said softly, before shooing away the guards and opening the door, letting John into the interrogation room before closing it quietly behind him. Sherlock stopped pacing, and although he didn’t change his posture, he looked for all the world like a caged animal. His eyes were cold and sharp but there was a hesitance there that wasn’t normal for the way things had been between them lately.

“Come to collect me have you.” he quipped with an obvious temper.

"Sherlock," John took a few steps forward, pausing hesitantly just out of reach. They had fallen back so many hard earned steps in such a short amount of time that the air between them was tense. "Let's just go home." He didn't want to have it out at all, especially not here.

John bit at the inside of his lip, desperately hoping Sherlock wouldn't put up a fight about this.

The detective couldn’t decipher John’s mood. He looked tired, and a little irritated, but besides that he couldn’t see anything like he normally could. He thought about fighting him, about refusing to leave, but that was how this started wasn’t it? By him refusing John something he asked for. John never asked for much, so who was he to deny him?

Slowly, the detective nodded, feeling like a chastised child. He wanted to be mad, he wanted a piece of the fury that had consumed him earlier, but seeing John had caused all the anger to leave him, and the worry from the night before to sweep back in. He was going to tell him tonight. He’d been working through it in his mind while Lestrade had locked him in here and called John, and he had decided exactly how and what he was going to say. Sherlock was nervous to tell John, he could be mad at the detective for not having told him sooner, or worse he could leave. His stomach fell as that thought crossed his mind. If John left, he’d be completely alone, just like Moriarty. He didn’t want to turn into his father, but he knew that by not telling John now, it could make him leave anyway. It was now or never, and they needed to get home before Sherlock would be able to muster the courage to say another word. When John opened the door, he moved passed him careful not to touch. Lestrade nodded to them both, but Sally Donovan’s glare followed them to the elevator doors.

The ride downstairs was excruciating, and he thought he was going to die before they made it out of the cab. He spent most of it silently staring out the window, but he was quite in tune with John and his body.

John tried to engage Sherlock, resting his hand on a shoulder tentatively. A surge of fear went through him as he tried to imagine what would happen when the got home. They hadn’t fought before, not like this, and he had no idea what to expect. His hand fell between them awkwardly when it became evident Sherlock wasn’t responding to the touch. John spent the rest of the ride trying to come up with something that would bring the detective from his reverie.

But when they finally made it home, Sherlock paid the cabby and slipped out of the backseat before John could even get his door open. He left the door to the flat open and slipped into the kitchen to make tea. He knew John would need it for what he had to say. “Sit.” he said simply when he heard the door close and footsteps making their way to the kitchen.

He moved slowly towards Sherlock, worry etched across his features as he watched the detective from the doorway. “I’m sorry Sherlock.” He had thought of saying many things. Explaining what had happened the night before, that having a row does not constitute attacking half of Lestrade's team, but none of that managed to make its way out as he watched him making tea for the both of them. 

“Don’t apologize John, just sit.” He didn’t look at him, and turned away to retrieve the milk Mrs. Hudson had bought for them. He splashed some into both cups, added sugar to his own, and carried the cups to the living room. He set John’s down on the table next to his chair, and sat in his own, showing John he wanted to talk, not sitting on the couch where they could sit together.

He set his own cup on the table and rested his elbows on his knees as he hung his head, hands running through his curly hair in frustration. “Sit.” he half commanded. His tone was no nonsense, and as he looked back up at John, his eyes were hard.

John obliged, he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He didn’t make a move for the tea, instead he leaned forward, watching Sherlock carefully. The man looked absolutely wrecked. He’d obviously been tearing at his hair the entire time he’d been out and it was standing at all sorts of odd angles. Then of course was the fact that he’d made John tea, which could only mean he felt whatever he had to say would call for it.

“Talk to me Sherlock.” John’s voice was soft, masking most of the fear he was feeling.

“I knew Moriarty, or Sebastian Moran rather... I knew he was going to try to kill me or force me to kill myself. I had to take drastic measures in order to assure him that I had in the event that I was unable to persuade him to stand down. The moment he killed himself on that rooftop, before I called you I sent a text message out to a few select people. Molly, some of my homeless network, and Mycroft. I put them all on red alert.” He raised his head, a hand rubbing over his face and pulling at his lips.

It had been months since they’d finished with Moriarty, but John still hadn’t asked what happened during Sherlock’s hiatus. It was like a careful subject they had hidden away, something they were both aware of, but made sure to never speak of. 

“Sherlock.” John’s voice was barely above a whisper, he could see how emotionally draining this was for the detective already, “You don’t have to do this. It’s ok-.”

“Hush John.” Sherlock’s words cut through John’s feeble attempt at brushing this all over, “You made me promise once that I would tell you. I told you I would tell you once I was sure that things were more stable between us. I didn’t think it would ever be, but...” He trailed off for a moment before his eyes snapped to John’s blue ones, suddenly very calm and resolved.

“I called you. I had to make you believe that I was going to die too. There were assassins trained on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, and they had to see me die John. I knew if I kept you in a convenient location, they would be watching you and your reactions, you would sell it John. You would keep them all safe.” His fingers dug into the tender skin beneath his cheekbones as he pressed on.

“When I jumped, I kept you to where the building between the street and Barts would hinder your sight. You would see me fall, but you wouldn’t see me hit the ground. With the man on the bicycle that knocked you down I would have precisely ninety seconds from the time I hit the back of the garbage truck to get out and lay down. I had parts of my homeless network in scrubs, and I’d donated a pint of blood earlier that week. That combined with my own concoction of sedatives and other various drugs, I could slow my heart and breathing enough to fool even you.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “Didn’t you notice that even though you were practically shouting that you were a doctor, they were pulling you away?” he scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. “They whisked me away where Molly gave me a shot of adrenaline to get my heart rate back up. Mycroft hid me away for a while, but soon I started out here in London, tracking down and finding all of Moriarty’s web of criminals. For a long time my searching was futile. Then, I caught a break.”

He had to stand for this next bit, he was getting far too nervous to remain sitting. “I started small, worked my way up. Finally after a year, I was infiltrating their groups within a matter of weeks instead of months. Sometimes it was easy to make it into their midst, others... not so much.” He stopped and looked at John, his eyes were wild and almost frightened. They didn’t waver as he lifted his fingers to remove his coat, tossing it back onto his chair, and then almost clinically removed his flannel shirt as well. The afternoon light spilled into 221B practically reflecting off of his alabaster skin. Although John had seen him naked before something was different about baring his chest to the man now.

He pointed to his chest where a long thin scar arched across his left pectoral muscle. “Knife. I barely dodged out of the way. The man had been aiming for my throat.” He pointed out a few other smaller scars much the same way, ones with different stories, when finally, he lifted his left arm, and pointed to the dark puckered skin across his left side.

“They were torturing me. It was a necessary way that I had to utilize quite often to gain access to the group. However, this group had heard about my movements, and captured me unawares. The leader took a hot knife, slid it right between my ribs and opened me up like some sort of lab dissection. I passed out. It was one of the few times Mycroft actually had to step in and save my life... They had already burned my skin enough that I wouldn’t get an infection from the gash... but it didn’t heal well, that’s why it’s so horrid.” Shaking his head, he turned around and ran his fingers down the long thin scar on his back.

“I was running away, leading them further into the forest where I could pick them off one by one. I was outnumbered five to one, and they had guns. A chain link fence was barring my way, and when I lept over it, I didn’t see the piece sticking straight out on the other side. I slid down the fence and it ripped a deep gash in my back.” His fingers reached a spot at the top near his right shoulder where the scar flared out and was pink instead of the white of the rest of it. “I got stuck. I thought I was done for, but... I got free somehow.” Sherlock refused to tell him that it was the thought of John and never seeing him again that had given him the extra gall he’d needed to rip the metal from his flesh.

With his back turned Sherlock didn’t see John silently slip to his feet. He had known a little of what had happened, what little Mycroft had shared with him at least, but hearing it like this was so much different. He’d been sitting with one hand pressed to his mouth since Sherlock had rid himself of his shirt, trying not to imagine too vividly the horrors Sherlock had gone through. 

He was standing directly behind the detective in a few swift steps and he reached out for him. Calloused fingers lightly grazed the gash Sherlock’s own hand was still resting on. He traced up the soft skin until he reached the dip, where the skin was torn deeper. As their fingers brushed over the old wound images flashed through his mind. All the nightmares they’d protected each other from, this had been why. It sickened him that even for a moment, he’d considered their scars as something good, paths that had led them to each other.

“Sher-” He breathed the detectives name, unsure of what else to say. John had been through war, but he hadn’t been alone. The wound on his shoulder had scared him, mentally and physically, but he was cared for and sent home. Sherlock hadn’t had any of that. He had fought a one man war, and almost died for it time and time again with practically no one to turn to.

Sherlock’s fingers gripped John’s hand as he turned. They were now almost chest to chest. The detective’s hand was tight around John’s, almost crushing his fingers. “Do not for one minute pity me John. I deserve all of these.” He took a breath and closed his eyes before pushing forward, “I could have turned them in. I could have dropped them off with Mycroft but I didn’t. I killed every last one of them.”

Sherlock didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see John’s expression. He had wanted to wait until he was positive things were okay, but he had seen since last night and his tantrum today, things were not going to be okay, not with secrets looming over their heads. If John did leave him, he would have to cope. He couldn’t keep smiling and hiding the truth from the only person who truly cared for him.

“For a while after I came home, I could pretend like I wasn’t that monster. I could act like everything was normal. Life moved on, you helped to fix me, how could I show you what I had become? You already knew I had little regard for human life, how could I tell you how skewed my conscience was without you to balance it out? Now you see why I refused to tell you?” He asked. 

In the end, Moriarty had strived to find someone just like him, little did anyone know that he had succeeded. He didn’t dare say it aloud though, even he wasn’t that dramatic.Sherlock’s teeth were grit together as he released John’s hand from his tight grip. He did however, press the open palm to his face. The touches on his scars had been gentle, and for one moment, he just wanted to imagine that nothing had changed, even though he was sure it had.

John’s thumb brushed along the sharp cheekbone softly. Had Sherlock opened his eyes he would have seen a very confused man in front of him. His free hand moved to graze along with jagged cut along his ribs. Now that the marks had stories the touch felt as if it might burn his fingertips, as if somehow he might take the pain away through the gesture.

It was a few moments before John finally spoke, the pain was evident in his voice. “What did you think would happen if you told me?” He cupped Sherlock’s jaw softly, willing him to open his eyes.

“The same thing that happened when I ever opened up to anyone else.” When he opened his eyes, they met John’s blue ones and all the fear of rejection that had been cultivated from the three years of being away, all the fights, all the times he’d expected John to walk out and never come back, they were all laid out in his gaze. His thumb brushed against the back of John’s hand and he gave a small smile. He wasn’t sure how to interpret what he saw in John’s face. Were things better between them? John certainly didn’t seem to be considering running away.

“You won’t... will you?” His voice was soft and low.

“I’m not going anywhere Sherlock.” John didn’t try and move closer or pull away, just touching Sherlock gently, supporting him. Somehow, their tiff had led to Sherlock sharing what was probably the most intimate secret he held, and John wasn’t going to push him for any more. “You did what you had to. I hate that you were forced into that and that you were alone, but it doesn’t make you any less human.”

Sherlock’s lip quivered, though he would deny it later. He moved his hands almost hesitantly before sliding them around John’s waist and pulling him the last few inches into his embrace. “Now that I’ve told you...” His voice caught in his throat, “Now that I’ve told you, are you quite finished being angry with me?” The words were spoken into John’s hair, his hands were light on the other’s hips, ready to pull back at the first sign of John’s displeasure.

“Oh shit.” John breathed, finally realizing what had happened. He felt Sherlock tense up as he cursed and had to wrap an arm tight around the thin waist to keep him from pulling away. Somehow Sherlock had assumed he was upset that they hadn’t yet talked about everything. The man had bared his soul, because John had wanted him to visit his mum.

Keeping Sherlock close he spoke against his chest, “I’m not angry with you Sherlock, honestly. I never was, not really anyways. Just... Okay this was actually quite horrible of me.” He released Sherlock so that he could look up at him. John chewed at the inside of his lip, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset, again. “I think it’s your turn not to be angry with me actually..”

“Why on earth would I be angry with you John?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath John pressed on. “I.. I really wasn’t angry with you. I was just trying to get you to agree to go to your mum’s.” He bit at his bottom lip again, waiting for Sherlock to react, fully prepared for this to set off another fit.

The detective’s eyes narrowed. That’s what John had pulled away for? “You mean to tell me that this entire thing was about going to visit my mother?”

Unable to hold the piercing gaze any longer John focused on a stain on the wall behind them, he was fairly certain it was tea Sherlock had thrown across the room during one of the more difficult days of his recovery.

Sherlock grabbed John’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes once more. “Does it really mean that much to you for me to go see my mother? Enough that you would rebuff my advances for everything that has become normal...” He trailed off for a moment, “What will Lestrade say when he finds out. Oh, John you may be banned from the yard for quite some time..” His voice had taken on a light air to drive away the tense feelings they’d been sharing not a moment ago

John relaxed slightly when he heard the change in his tone. “Oi! Who has to tell Lestrade anything? Plus if I’m banned you’ll be shit out of luck because I doubt you’ll be let in there without me for quite a while, not after today.” This banter was normal, comfortable. It felt as if a small weight had been lifted of John’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he needed their relationship, the idea of scaring Sherlock away had absolutely terrified him.

Dropping the teasing tone he answered the real question. “And yes. I mean, she’s your mother, and she thought you were dead for christs sake. I just... It’s the right thing to do Sherlock.”

“Then I’ll go.” The words came so easily, and he pulled John back into a quick hug before letting him go. He moved across the flat, scooped both of their tea cups up and deposited them on the coffee table before sliding his hips tight into the corner of the couch and patting the space beside him.

“Now that I know why you were so indifferent yesterday, I’m sure you’ve been regretting not taking care of my... “ he rolled his eyes at the word, “cuddly mood. Come here.” He held his arm out, making the space right up against his side look very inviting. The brunette would never admit it, but after having bared his gritty history to John, he needed some physical reassurance that he was not about to leave.

Any residual tension that John had been holding on to left at the invitation. Grabbing the cup of tea he nestled against the lanky man.

"Yes. I have. We could still..." John let his implication hang in the air as his eyes traveled up the still bare chest. Taking a sip of the tea to fill the silence his gaze met Sherlocks. "If you want to I mean."

For the first time since he and John had entered into that kind of relationship, Sherlock could say that he really didn’t. After the worry of the afternoon, the steeling himself for John to storm out the door, he felt rather deflated, and the only thing he truly desired was to have his arms around John to prove to himself that he was still here, and this wasn’t some dream.

“No.” he said softly, wrapping his arm around the doctor and taking his own tea in hand, “If you don’t mind, I’d just like to stay like this for a while.” He knew the words would sound odd, but he frankly didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so maybe things aren't all better... but we did say 'A Bit Better' right? Comparatively, they're doing great =). Also, thanks to the upcoming release for series three you will be getting the rest of this last part of the trilogy a lot faster. Enjoy =)


	6. I Wanna

The next few days carried on in about the same way and Sherlock managed to find a reason each day that John wouldn’t be able to make it into the clinic. They’d spent their days working on cold cases John was sure would have normally been dismissed as boring, and making up experiments that required an extra pair of hands. This wasn’t really the problem though, John didn’t mind staying home to help Sherlock, that’s why he’d only been volunteering at the clinic. The real issue was the fact that the detective was constantly touching him.

Sherlock was not a touchy person, he didn’t like being touched unless it was on his terms, and he normally didn’t seek out displays of affection from John unless he was planning to follow through with sex. It had always been like that, all or nothing. This was completely different. They still hadn’t had sex since before their argument about Sherlock’s mother, of course the problem had been laid to rest and they were planning to visit her the following weekend, but something had changed for the detective, and it was driving John insane.

On the second day of this madness John decided to take matters into his own hands. He was making his morning cup of tea when Sherlock blundered in, babbling on about the latest cold case he’d worked out. The detective immediately tucked himself behind John, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder as he continued to explain his discovery. This had become frustratingly normal the past few days.

“Fascinating,” John mumbled, his own pent up frustrations dropped his voice to a deeper tone. He shifted slightly against the detective so they were flush, and wrapped his good arm back a bit, so his fingers were dancing across the skin on his hip, just above the low riding pyjama bottoms. Nothing. 

Sherlock continued talking, describing in detail how the three women had been buried in their own vehicles and who committed the crime, and when John had finished making their tea he scooped his up and returned to the sitting room to open a new file. He wasn’t pushing John away, that was the worst part, he was being more affectionate than ever, there just didn’t seem to be any sexual drive there.

By the fourth day John was becoming worried. He had spent most of the last two days purposefully teasing Sherlock, trying to catch his attention in any way with no avail.

It had started small. Bending over directly in front of the detective, or making a small groan of pleasure when he'd sip his tea. When none of that worked, he'd moved on to less subtle things like eating phallic foods almost sinfully in front of the curly headed man. But Sherlock stayed ridiculously oblivious, even when he rocked his hips against him in bed. The taller man had just taken it as a cue for tighter cuddling. It was absolutely maddening.

Perhaps the detective was growing bored of their relationship, although that didn’t explain his constant need for physical contact, which had only become increasingly more insistent. 

John had almost given up on trying to seduce Sherlock, and had been sitting on the sofa, bowed over his computer which was perched on his knees, when the detective clambered up behind him to sit on the back of the sofa. A small groan escaped his lips as the sharp knees pressed against his sides, but the detective quickly adjusted so John was nestled between them before leaning forward, his arms draped over the doctors shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock’s voice held his normal curiosity, as if there was nothing odd about how he’d been acting, but John’s patience was wearing thin.

“I’m updating our blog, trying to find us a case that will get us out of this bloody flat.” His voice was strained, but he set the laptop on the coffee table and leaned back into the detectives touch. His voice softened slightly as laid a hand over Sherlock’s, pressing the cool fingers against his chest. “What in the world are you doing?”

"I'm sitting behind you John." He replied simply. Leaning forward he pressed the side of his head to the top of John's. the past few days had been hell for the detective. The night of their fight, he'd suddenly become very aware of how little they actually touched outside of sex and now he felt like he couldn't get enough of it. Sex had been the furthest thing from his mind as he had been doing some research while John slept at night about the importance of physical touch in a relationship. Like anything else he did, the detective took it to an extreme.

"Does it bother you?"

“No..” John started, feeling the last few days crash over him. “I mean... I’m enjoying the intimacy, but it’s not very you. What’s with the sudden change? I don’t know if this is some sort of payback for the stunt I pulled, but really that was one night, this is getting ridiculous.” He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the detectives body against his. He was acutely aware of each place their bodies touched.

The detective was silent for a moment, trying to decipher his meaning, was his increase in physical touch a payback for John attempting to force him to see his mother? No matter the angle he looked at it, it didn't make sense.

"What do you mean? How could my increase in physical contact be considered a punishment if you like it?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, "all the research I've done suggests that a person will leave a relationship if physical contact is not an avid part in everyday living. I'm merely trying to keep you interested so that you will refrain from leaving..." He trailed off not really willing to add in the rest of his thought process.

John normally melted into his embrace, but that night he'd been indifferent. It had been the closest thing to being emotionally hurt Sherlock had ever felt, and it still sent a searing tingle of nausea through his stomach to think about it. He didn't ever want to feel that again, and in a way, he wondered if he had been keeping John at arm's length by pulling him so close that he couldn't hurt him again, even if it hadn't been intentional.

“Oh for the love of-”

John was done. He was utterly finished dancing around Sherlock trying to get his attention. Pulling from the detectives grasp he quickly turned, guiding Sherlock down by the shoulders, a bit rougher than entirely necessary, so he was sitting on the sofa. Before he had a chance to fully work out what was happening John was straddling his lap, one hand laced tightly through his thick curls pulling his head back so they were nose to nose.

Sherlock's eyes were wide as the smaller man practically shoved him down on the couch. There was a slight pain when his head was wrenched back, but it wasn't unpleasant. 

“I am very interested,” Pulling softly on Sherlock’s hair John arched his neck back to nip up it softly, beginning at his collar bone, until he reached his earlobe. His lips were brushing Sherlock’s ear as he growled out the next words. “So. For the last time Sherlock, I’m not going anywhere.”

John relaxed the hand in Sherlock’s hair slightly and he pulled back, an utter feral look in his eyes as they met the green in front of him. A devilish grin broke across his face as he brushed his nose against the detectives. “I need you in the bedroom. Now.” It was as if there were different sides to John. There was the doctor, his blogger, and then there was Captain John Watson. It wasn’t often that this side presented itself, but when it did there was no mistaking it.

His shoulders rolled back, making him slightly taller so his body emanated confidence. But of course it was the tone of his voice that really affected Sherlock.

A visible shiver went through Sherlock's body at the sound of that voice. It screamed obey or suffer the consequences. And while every part of the detective's being wanted to submit to this new and exciting side of John, he also liked the danger in the undertones of his voice. His hands had fallen to John's hips when he'd started in on the taller man's pale throat, and now they squeezed tightly.

"If I refuse?" He licked his lower lip almost nervously. Now that he did the math it had been a while since they'd done anything sexual and he'd probably driven John crazy by it. But if this were the result, Sherlock promised to drive him mad more often. Captain John Watson was new in this aspect, and Sherlock could tell he was going to thoroughly enjoy himself no matter what happened.

John chuckled darkly as his free hand skirted down the detectives front, slipping his hand under the hem of his shirt to tease along the waistline of his trousers. Leaning forward a bit he spoke again, his voice was lower and even more commanding.

“Not an option.”

He caught Sherlock’s lips before he could voice a rebuttal, a deep greedy kiss fueled by his own desire, before pulling away and moving toward the bedroom without a second look back. Once in the bedroom, John had half a moment of panic. All of their previous sexual encounters had been initiated by Sherlock, not because John wasn't interested, but because that was part of how their relationship worked. Up until this point John had been too cautious to push for anything, rather taken whenever the opportunity presented itself. His fears were quickly brushed away as he heard bare feet making their way towards the bedroom.

Sherlock had been taken utterly by surprise when John had been so forceful, but by the time he made it to the bedroom, he was rock hard and his body was begging for more than the greedy kiss John had taken.

His hands were down to his side as he entered the room, and he stopped when he found John still standing and not on the bed like he had expected. Although he'd done power play with one or two of his previous sexual partners, this was completely different, and he knew John was getting off on commanding him as much as he was at being told what to do. Having complete control over his mind at all times was a necessity, but having some of that control forcefully taken away from him was exciting him beyond compare.

He raised an eyebrow slightly as he leaned against the door jamb, waiting for instruction.

When the footfalls stopped in the doorway John’s eyes slowly ran up the detective, taking in his appearance. It took a moment for him to realize Sherlock was waiting, and the realization sent excited thrill through his body. Squaring his shoulders John turned cocking his head to the side as he licked his bottom lip.

“Inside. Close the door.” In comparison, most of John’s experiences with other partners had been rather vanilla. It wasn’t news that he was enjoying their game, his casual relationships simply hadn’t allowed for him to explore it in the past. He could feel his arousal quickly growing at the thought of Sherlock relinquishing himself like this. 

Sherlock stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Once inside, he stood, his feet slightly spread, and fingertips pressed together in front of him. He could see how much this was exciting John and it seemed to spur Sherlock on as well. 

John crossed the small space between them in a few steps so he was directly in front of the other man. He knew Sherlock was waiting for the next command, but he waited a moment, letting the tension, and question of what he’d say next, build between them.

“Clothes,” He tugged on the pocket of Sherlock’s jeans as if to emphasize his displeasure with them, John could only manage short statements, he felt almost dizzy from the high of endorphins. “Off.” And when he saw Sherlock slowly complying, one arduous button at a time, John quickly rid himself of his own clothing as he moved to stand behind him.

It wasn't often that so few words could turn him on so completely, but he supposed with John anything and everything was possible. When his fingers slipped the last button, he let the shirt slide down his arms, resting in the crook of his elbows as long fingers began working on his belt and pants. He let the jeans fall off his thin hips once the fastenings we're opened to reveal the fact that he hadn't worn pants that day. He stepped out of them and let the shirt fall off his arms before crossing them and sinking back into a hip. He smirked lightly at John as if to say challenge accepted, what next?

He noticed the smaller man had quickly divested himself of his own clothing, and letting his eyes run up John's body he wondered which of them was harder from the experience.

John hadn’t been sure what his next moves would be, but then Sherlock flashed that smart smirk and something else took over. It surprised him that this was the first time he’d been in control of what they were doing, but he was planning on taking advantage of it. Before the evening was out he’d have the bastard gagging for it.

With both of them stark naked John felt considerably calmer. His eyes darted towards the bed as he spoke, mirroring the detectives challenge, “Lie down.”

Sherlock's lips curled upwards in a grin. They both had a penchant for danger and he knew several things about the man before him than would make his next statement very fun. His eyes traveled up and down the John’s frame once more before his eyes traveled to the bed. He sniffed at it haughtily before turning back to John. His eyes hard and defiant.

"Make me." He said.

John was only slightly surprised by the detectives defiance, and even more surprised by his own quick reaction. “With pleasure,” he growled, catching Sherlocks wrists and pinning them in the small of his back with one hand. The bed was no longer in the forefront of his mind as he pushed Sherlock back, pinning him against the closed door.

Sherlock let out a small noise of surprise. He’d expected to be thrown down on the bed, but the older man had reacted so swiftly, he hadn’t been able to preemptively deduce his actions. He twisted his hands in the small of his back, testing how tight the man’s grip was, and was surprised by what he found. He couldn’t move much at all. He could probably break John’s grip if he really tried, but he would have to put forth a lot of effort. Looking down, he watched the other in awe of the power he somehow forgotten John had.

Keeping the thin wrists caught in his hand John began greedily working his way down the Sherlock’s chest. Starting just below his collarbone he began nipping hard enough at the pale skin that he knew there would be a lovely mark before they were through. He let his tongue trace across the mark before he moved down breathing hotly against one nipple and then the other.

His free hand traveled lower, careful to not do more than brush his member as he found the pronounced hip. His lips found a new, unmarred area below the opposite collarbone to leave his mark as his fingers traced the curve of Sherlock’s hip, following the crease at his groin till his nails were dancing across the inside of his thigh. He could feel heat radiating off of Sherlock as he beamed down at his work on the pale chest.

Sherlock knew that John was feeling a little apprehension. This was new for them, probably totally new for John, and Sherlock wanted to ease his way into it. However, he didn’t have to try very hard, as his body was responding quite well to the lack of control and the hungry possessive touches were driving him crazy.

“John...” he said breathlessly as the nails on his inner thigh made his cock twitch in anticipation. The desire to reach out and touch the doctor was overwhelming, but as he reflexively went to reach for him, his hands met the other man’s strong grasp, and he let out a low desperate moan.

John's lips pulled into a small smile, loosening his grip slightly. He spoke in between light kisses along the detectives neck, tracing his path from earlier, up to his ear.

"Ready to listen now?" The words fell from his lips easily, as if he knew what they were doing. His hand traveled back up gripping Sherlocks hip tightly as he pressed up against him, rolling his hips slightly. John buried his face against the detectives neck at the motion, muffling the moan it produced.

Sherlock couldn’t speak. That tantalizing hip roll had stolen the ability. He felt and heard the evidence of John’s arousal, and pleasure tingled through him where their bodies touched. He wanted more, so much more, and at the moment the only way he would get it was by acquiescing.

He nodded, his hips canting back against John’s in an effort to derive more of that delicious friction from the smaller man’s body. His breath was coming hard and heavy in the blonde’s ear and his fingers gripped the other’s hand and his own forearms just to give them something to do to keep him from going totally insane by the mad teasing John was giving him.

John pressed into Sherlock once more, biting back the moan that followed, before relinquishing his hold on him. Taking a step back, attempting to even his breathing, he gave Sherlock the same challenging look from earlier as he gestured to the bed.

"Lie on your back with your feet spread apart." John had found his voice again, instincts seeming to take over where any hesitance had once been. He looked Sherlock over carefully, noting every detail.

His brows were knit together when John pulled away, and he let out a soft noise when cool air rushed over his body. However when the command was given, he didn’t hesitate this time. Laying down longways on the bed so that his feet wouldn’t hang over the edge, he let his hands rest on the mattress beside him, and spread his legs.

The position made his shaft jut out and curve back towards his stomach, tapping the tight muscles with the throb of his heartbeat. He was flushed starting from the hard member, and traveled up his chest in a trail up the center where it exploded over his neck and face. His eyes were cloudy as he looked up at the doctor. In that moment he wanted no more than to see a look of satisfaction cross John’s face. His brows rose as if to ask.

Good enough?

As John’s eyes swept up the flush skin, a pleasurable hum escaped his lips. He crept towards the bed slowly, keeping their gaze locked as he climbed over Sherlock, John’s body hovering just above the his. John’s hands Doug into the mattress on either side of is shoulders as he dipped down, placing a chaste kiss against his lips before slipping down the others body, nestling between his legs. 

Part of Sherlock always running the show, meant the idea of switching roles during sex had never crossed their mind. Well, it hadn’t crossed Sherlocks at least. John had thought about it many times. He’d been curious. Not many of his previous lovers had had much interest in giving head, but Sherlock.. Sherlock seemed to lose himself in giving John pleasure.

The commanding presence dropped as he studied the throbbing member curiously. His hands splayed out across Sherlock’s thin hips, his thumbs brushing against the trimmed hairs. For someone who considers his body transport... John smiled wryly at the thought. 

Sherlock swallowed thickly as John’s body moved down his and settled between his legs. He’d never really thought about John doing this to him before. He grit his teeth and let his head push back into the pillows, fighting not to move his hands. He knew John hadn’t told him not to touch him, but he had the distinct feeling if he did there would be consequences.

Those inquisitive fingers made the muscles in his legs twitch as he fought his body to keep from thrusting up against the lightest brush. The situation was definitely having an immense effect on him, and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he loved or hated the tension that was growing just from having John look at him.

John was moving painfully slow, testing his own boundaries more than his partners. He breathed heavily against Sherlock, his own breath hitching at the effect he was having on Sherlock. 

One hand gripped the base of his member lightly, the head bobbing precariously close to his lips. His breath shook slightly, a mixture of apprehension and excitement whirling through him as his eyes flitted up the pale body. He couldn’t help but love having Sherlock like this, his entire body on edge, waiting for John to do something.

Licking his lips, and taking a deep breath, John leaned forward, taking Sherlock in slowly. He’d expected it to be different. More difficult, or uncomfortable, but he was surprised to find it wasn’t, not enough to stop anyways. John’s tongue explored the underside of the detectives shaft as he took in as much as he could without feeling overwhelmed.

The first feeling of warmth around the head of his throbbing member had been slight shock to Sherlock. His eyes had been closed and John had been teasing him for so long, that he half expected him to pull back and wag a finger at him. But as the inquisitive tongue moved around his shaft, he couldn’t help a long low moan that poured from his mouth, his fingers twisting in the duvet beneath him.

There was something sinful about such a curious mouth doing something so naughty as giving Sherlock a blowjob, and yet he couldn’t help but think that John’s mouth had been made for this. His legs pulled back, cradling John’s head with his thighs as he bent his knees. If he couldn’t grab onto the short locks and thrust up into his warm mouth, touching him any way possible was the next best thing.

The new pressure against the side of his head encouraged John to keep moving. He pulled up, slowly, sliding his tongue along until just the head remained in his mouth. John was aware that his slow movements were probably driving Sherlock absolutely insane, but he was busy carefully cataloguing the detectives reactions, learning what touch sent him reeling.

Exploring the silky head he could taste the small amount of precum that had built up there, it was salty but not entirely terrible. Taking Sherlock back in John sucked softly, granting him a movement from the detective that assured him in his efforts. Picking up the pace John continued experimenting, changing the pressure, flicking his tongue around the head.

The experimental movements and touches were getting to be too much. Just the sight of John's head buried between his legs was enough to get him close, and he knew he had to stop this before his orgasm crept up on him. His thighs pressed tighter against the doctor's face as he leaned up on his elbows.

"If you keep on like that I won't be very useful to you...." He was breathless as he spoke, still wary to reach out and touch the smaller man. Just then a particular roll of the blonde's tongue hit the sensitive area just beneath the glans and he found a husky moan falling from his lips as his head fell back, hair tickling his neck as his body shivered with pleasure.

"John... Please." The last word was almost a whisper.

John pulled away slowly, letting the heavy member fall from his lips where it bobbed against the taut stomach. He was mesmerized for a moment, the sight of Sherlock writhing beneath him was almost too much. John moved up his body slowly, so he was straddling Sherlock’s hips, the detectives member pressing against him. 

Reaching to the bedside table he fished a small bottle from the drawer. As he popped it open he spoke, his tone demanded to be obeyed, “You’ve done very good at keeping your hands to yourself.” His voice was like a purr. Coating his fingers in the lube he reached behind them, stroking Sherlock slowly a few times before hastily preparing himself. “I’m going to ride you Sherlock, but if you move your hands from those sheets or if you start to cum without permission I will stop.”

The words dripped with promise as he carefully positioned himself over Sherlock. The pressure of the slick member against him sent a small shiver up Johns spine. He moved slowly, the lack of real preparation made it burn slightly, but it quickly faded into pleasure as he took all of Sherlock’s length. A soft groan ripped through him as his muscles relaxed enough to begin moving.

John leaned forward to press his hands into the mattress, his own member brushing against Sherlock’s stomach with his thrusts. Sherlock let out a deep groan, and had to twist his fingers in the duvet to keep them from reaching for him.

However, when John began to really move, his hips bucked up into him, and his hands shot to John’s hips, pulling him down to grind their hips together.

The reaction was instant. Even though the lack of contact pulled a deep moan from John, he pulled off of Sherlock, grabbing his wrists and pinning them back against the mattress. “What did I say?” His breath was heavy and rapid, he hadn’t fully expected to be tested. He really hadn’t expected the defiance to make his heart beat out of his chest in excitement.

Sherlock let out a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper, and tried to tame the need to grab the doctor’s hips and slam him back down on his cock by force. “You... just.. “ he was breathless, “I couldn’t help it.” he finished lamely, eyes taking on the look John had once deemed his puppy dog face. He made a point to wrap his hands in the blankets tighter so it would be harder for him to get them free, trying to show John he was willing to try again.

Relaxing his hold on Sherlock’s wrists he nudged his face to the side, dragging his lips along the detectives jaw line before whispering into his skin. “Good. When I tell you to come you can touch me. You just have to control yourself till then.”

He didn’t have to move as slowly as before, lining himself up with Sherlock he pressed down, moaning as he felt himself being filled again. It didn’t take long to find an angle that left them both gasping and moaning into each other. 

Sherlock was hard pressed to keep his hands to himself. Normally he had free reign to mold John’s body to pleasure it and himself, but there was something glorious about his body being used purely for John’s pleasure at the moment that was driving him insane. As John moved he became increasingly vocal, also unusual for him.

The only thing he could do was thrust up against the doctor slightly, hoping for another squeeze of his muscles or particularly deep thrust. His head was thrown back and to the side, teeth biting on the cloth balled up in his fist, his back arched beautifully off the bed as he let go and let himself feel John riding him. With each movement he was getting closer to the edge until he heard himself crying out.

“John... I’m... “he couldn’t form coherent words, but he was sure the doctor would catch his meaning as his eyes screwed up in pleasure, his stomach muscles clamping down trying to stave off the orgasm that was rapidly baring down on him.

John wasn’t far behind, pleasure quickly pooling in his abdomen, and the detectives desperate cries were just enough to push him over the edge. Letting out a deep moan his head dropped, words spilling from his lips frantically, “Ye-yes Sherlock. Come on. Now.”

He was practically growling as he brought their bodies together, pinning his own member between their sweat slicked bodies. Any amount of control John had held up until now quickly dissipated as his thrusts became quick and erratic. His entire body began tensing as he buried his face against the others neck.

“Now.” 

It was supposed to be a command, but the desperation in John’s voice made it sound as if he was the one begging for release.

It had been hard to keep himself together when John started to spasm around him, but when that voice commanded him, sounding a little desperate he lost it. His body arched up hard against the bed, his hands flashing out to grip at the smaller man’s back to pull him down tighter, as the doctor spilled out between them. A cry wrenched from his lips as he came harder than he ever remembered.

For one long moment, it felt like time stood still, his body taught as all his muscles clenched. Then the world came rushing back, and they collapsed into a quivering heap of detective and doctor. When Sherlock regained the ability, his hands rubbed in slow calming circles and he kissed the older man just above his ear.

“You John Watson, are an extremely interesting man.”

John chuckled softly against Sherlock’s neck, too spent to pull away. “Surprised myself a bit honestly. Was it..” The question hung in the air. In the moment everything had made sense, it had been instinctual, and now as they lay wrapped in each other, an absolute hot mess, he was able to reflect on the entire encounter.

He had never thought himself to be interested in anything particularly kinky, but he supposed it made sense with Sherlock. He became bored with just about everything in time, and frankly if this sort of power play kept him interested John didn’t mind in the least. The fact that this had began as an argument had completely left his mind.

“Was that all alright?” He said softly, finally deciding how to word the question.

“John that was quite a bit more than alright.” he kissed the doctor’s head and tightened his arms around him. “I may be tempted to rile you up more often if this is the result I’ll get.” He chuckled breathlessly, and pulled John into his side, and reached down grabbing a blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and pulled it over them. He’d needed to wash his bedding soon anyway.

John considered arguing with that point, he did not want the detective purposefully working him up, but he'd be lying if he tried to say he didn't want it to happen again. He settled for a noncommittal growl as he pressed a kiss to the bruised collarbone.

Heaving a deep, bone rattling sigh, Sherlock pulled the man close up against him, and nuzzled into his hair. “So we go visit Mummy this weekend for her birthday.” he said softly, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that Mycroft is bringing Lestrade, so you won’t be the only one there. However, Mummy does love a good party, so you’ll need a tuxedo. Her events are always black tie. She’s going for some sort of ball this year. ’ His fingers lazily drew on John’s shoulder as he spoke.

"Thank god. I'd hate to be cooped up with you and your brother for too long. Do try not to goad him too much." He relaxed against the detectives hands, his voice was thick and drowsy. Closing his eyes he went on without waiting for a response. There was no real chance at that sibling rivalry dying.

"So what does your mum know about us? I mean.. Flatmates? Friends?" It wasn't as if they were particularly secret about their relationship, if people didn't know it was only because the couple didn't act much different in public than the had before. Their few friends knew, but nothing official had actually been established, just an unspoken understanding that they belonged to each other and no one else.

Sherlock hummed in a soft chuckle, “Considering I never really had friends growing up, and you’re the first person I’ll have ever brought to meet her, I’m sure she’ll know there’s something different about you.” He looped one leg through John’s feeling rather possessive of his blogger at the moment.

“However I’m sure of several other things that will point her in the right direction. One, Mycroft has no doubt told her about his relationship with Lestrade and he is probably bringing him to meet mummy for the first time this weekend. Two Mummy is very bright comparatively, I’m sure that when she meets you, she’ll sense the intrigue and attraction between us fairly quickly if not immediately. She has a way of seeing straight through you, albeit in a different way than I do. and Third, I’m fairly sure Mycroft has told her we’re sleeping together. I’m told he keeps her quite up to date on all my affairs since I see her so little.”

“That’s good.” he mumbled softly as he pressed closer to Sherlock, far too spent and exhausted to formulate a real response.

Sherlock knew his mother would take the news just fine and had probably been waiting eagerly to properly meet John since they’d gotten together, although he hadn’t intended it to be so soon. He still wasn’t sure of the finality of their relationship, and if something happened to them after she’d met John, he wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive him.


	7. Drove Me Wild

John stared at his reflection in the mirror in their room. Pulling at the third button down shirt he’d tried on he grimaced. He hadn’t been particularly nervous about meeting ‘Mummy Holmes’, again, but as the day got closer his anxiety got worse. Now he had tried on three full different outfits, had half a bag packed, and was sure Sherlock was going to murder him if he didn’t hurry up. 

Letting out a defeated sigh he dropped the last few things he needed into the overnight bag on the bed, grabbed the garment bag that held his formal wear, and made his way out into the sitting room to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his hands pressed together under his chin. His bag, already packed, was sitting next to him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He asked, not even looking at John, “Or did you want to try on a fourth outfit?” The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as he stood and finally looked at John. “Mummy will like you no matter what, especially since we’re coming on her birthday. I’ve told you it doesn’t matter what you wear. Don’t go diva on me now.” He cupped the back of John’s neck and pressed a small kiss to his forehead.

“You’re one to talk.” John teased, adjusting the detective’s collar. “Besides, it’s not just your mum I’m meeting.” Part of visiting Sherlocks mother meant the detective had brought back one of his suits rather than the new attire he’d taken to wearing. It also meant that the silk purple button up was back.

The last time John had seen him in that particular shirt it had hung off his thin frame dangerously, but the last few months had been good for the detective. Other than the obvious improvement of getting off the drugs, he’d also, at John’s insistence most days, began eating and sleeping more regularly. Toying with the strained buttons he smiled back up at the detective, it was a nice visual reminder that things had really improved.

“I do love this shirt.” John said, pressing his hand flat against his chest.

Sherlock’s fingers came up and curled around the hand on his chest. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of John’s ear as he spoke, “Why do you think I wore it?” He pulled away with a smirk to observe the doctor’s reaction before turning away to locate his suitcase.

“Are you finally ready to go? The car Mycroft sent has been waiting for almost half an hour.”

Pulling his own bag up on his shoulder John started for the door. They were only staying for the night, but it didn’t surprise him that Sherlock had managed to fill a small suitcase.

“You weren’t ready when the car got here either.” he quipped as he started down the steps knowing Sherlock would be right behind him.

Sure enough the familiar black car was waiting for them at the curb outside of 221b. Slipping into the backseat John mumbled a small apology for the wait at the driver while Sherlock stowed their bags in the boot of the car. Not a moment later he sat down next to John, their hands instantly intertwining

The back seat was spacious, and Sherlock found his interest piqued when the car pulled away from the curb. The drive would take a while, a few hours at least, and with this much room, his imagination was running rampant. He glanced around the car and found exactly what he was looking for. His rare smile broke out over his face as he leaned back into the plush seat. He’d give John a while before he put his plan into action.

They sat together for a while, their hands just resting on the seats, and they were well out of London, out in the countryside when he decided he’d made himself wait long enough. His arousal had grown the longer he thought about it, and he wasn’t sure if John hadn’t noticed or was just ignoring it. Either way it didn’t matter. Pressing the button that rolled the tinted partition up, he caught a knowing glance from the driver in the rear view mirror and received a wink just as the partition slid into place.

The detective let the partition stay up for a while, waiting to see what John would say, if he’d said anything at all.

John watched Sherlock lean back into the seat, a look on his face that screamed he was about to do something dangerous or exciting. Licking his lips in anticipation John nodded towards the partition that had just been rolled up. It was pitch black on this side, and considering this was one of Mycroft's vehicles, it only made sense that it would be the top of the line in privacy.

“What’s that about?” John asked, his ears already turning a bright shade of pink. He purposefully looked out the window, avoiding the green eyes that were sure to be boring down on him.

Sherlock took the opening and reached out, his left hand circling John’s waist and, pulling him back against the his chest. His right snatched one of the doctor’s hands and pulled it until it was palm down against the hot hardness in his pants.

“I figured you’d appreciate the privacy when you swallowed my cock.” He’d quickly found out in the past few months that talking dirty like this would leave John rather open to suggestion considering he was so poised with his speech normally. He used it in times like this when the other man might have reservations against what they were doing, like the one time he’d wanted to experiment with peanut butter. 

“I can always roll it back down if you’d like an audience.” His teeth nipped at the other man’s earlobe.

John’s mouth quickly went dry, but there was no hesitation as he began stroking Sherlock through the strained cloth. Part of him was utterly terrified of doing anything so public, but, the idea of defiling the back of Mycroft’s vehicle was quite enticing. The deep voice sent a small shiver through his body and he pressed back into the detective.

“I’d much rather keep you to myself, thanks.”

Turning so he could catch Sherlock’s mouth before he could offer any other smart remark, John kissed him deeply. He didn’t want to give Sherlock the opportunity to convince him of voyeurism as well.

Switching hands as he turned John rubbed Sherlock through his trousers for a few more moments before he started unclasping them and pulling at the zipper. Tearing their mouths apart after a small nip to the others bottom lip John gave him a fleeting hungry look. It had been a few days since the first time he’d done this, which was plenty of time for him to become more comfortable and versed in the act.

“If Mycroft has this car bugged you’ll be the one paying for it.” His eyebrows raised with his teasing threat as he pulled away and settled himself in front of the detective. His fingers looped under the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers and pants, tugging softly to release his throbbing member from their confines.

The threat made him chuckle until the cool air against his heated skin made him suck in a hissing breath. One hand moved to the back of John's head, not urging but simply finding a place to rest as he spoke.

"Forgive me for not trembling. Any punishment you derive only bears the suggestion to be something overwhelmingly pleasurable for both of us." His voice was deep and husky, his eyes jaded as he looked down at the older man, kneeling in the back seat, staring at his cock hungrily. He gave a small roll of his hips that caused the head of his member to brush against john's cheek.

"And now that I know how absolutely sinful your mouth is, I'm hard pressed not to keep my cock there at all times..."

John tutted softly, as if Sherlock had said something a bit not good, but the small smile that pulled at his lips as he rocked on his heels begged to differ. John held a certain amount of pride in his abilities, so hearing the seductive praise coming from Sherlock made his confidence soar.

Running his parted lips down the detectives shaft John breathed hotly against it. His eyes darting up to meet green as he felt Sherlock twitch in anticipation. Working his way back up he ran his tongue along the underside, swirling around the head slightly before parting his lips and taking Sherlock in his mouth with a small hum.

There was something extremely arousing about locking eyes with John as those lips stretched around the shaft, and he let out a small groan, afraid to break eye contact and dilute the moment. His fingers tightened on the back of John’s neck as hips canted up into his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to hold the blonde down and fuck his mouth without abandon, but he restrained himself.

“Oh John,” he whispered softly, “Your mouth is exquisite.” his hand smoothed over the other man’s hair as he spoke. He knew John was effected by the sound of his voice, and he decided to try an experiment. “Do you like having my cock in your mouth?” he asked, his baritone rumbling through his chest.

The obscene question sent waves of pleasure straight to John’s groin. He moaned as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking, taking Sherlock a bit deeper than before. The deep throaty sounds emanating from him vibrated along the cock in his mouth in response to Sherlocks question. One hand gripped Sherlock’s hip, while the other began teasing at his balls, rolling them in his hand as he sped up his languid pace.

There was a definite flush creeping up on John’s cheeks. Between Sherlock’s alluring voice and the fact that he was getting him off in the back of a moving car John was finding it difficult to think of anything other than the task at hand. His mind spinning in a hot mess of endorphins.

Sherlock’s breath was coming faster but the naughty statements and questions never stopped, even as his voice became husky and deep the longer he spoke. “You do. You’d like it up your arse right now too.” He leaned forward, curling his body so that he could almost whisper in John’s ear.

“You’d like to be in my lap riding me right now. In fact I’m sure if I asked you’d drop your trousers right now and fuck yourself on me like your life depended on it.” His fingers ghosted down to the base of his neck then back up to tangle in his short hair, forcing his member even further into the delicious heat. “So wanton John...” the condescending tone was almost a growl as he let another moan fall from his lips.

The sudden force reminded John to breath through his nose. He kept Sherlock there for a moment, swallowing around the cock pressing to the back of his throat. Moaning greedily, Sherlock’s words making his own member twitch with desire, he pulled back so just the tip remained. Running his tongue around it slowly he tasted the building arousal there.

Part of him considered working painfully slow until Sherlock did insist on taking him right here in the back of the car, but the little bit of his mind that was still working told him he wasn’t ready for that. God forbid someone see them somehow. He began working faster, urging Sherlock along as he sucked and teased him, taking him a bit deeper with each bob of his head.

Sherlock felt his hips bucking up into John’s mouth with each bob of his head and his own brows knit together at the sensation of having that tight wetness work over his shaft. His head fell back against the seat as his hand rest heavily on the back of the doctor’s head. Absently he reached into his pants pocket with his left hand and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it down to the man between his knees, and grit his teeth against another loud moan before he finally spoke once more.

“Touch yourself for me John.” He said, “It may be tonight before I can reciprocate, and believe me when I say I will be fucking you into my mattress.” His words were gravelly as he raised his head to look down into a pair of bright blue eyes.

John slowed down a bit, fumbling with the button of his trousers. He moaned around Sherlock’s member as he finally grasped himself. He was already precariously close, Sherlock’s promise rang out in his ears delightfully. Taking the handkerchief and carefully wrapping it over the head of his cock with one hand John resumed his previous motions, moving his hand and mouth in time together.

His movements became more erratic as his breathing shortened, moaning readily against the detective.

Sherlock’s breath was coming quicker, his hands tightening and releasing in John’s hair and on the edge of the seat. He could see the motion of the smaller man’s hand over his cock and groaned at the sheer sinfulness of this entire ordeal. He filed away the obvious effect his words had on John away for later use. 

Feeling his testicles tightening and drawing up against his flesh he knew it wouldn’t be long. John had become very skilled in the past few days. “Yes John... I’m about to...” his breath left his chest in a rush as the other’s tongue swept under the sensitive head and he was gone, releasing himself into the doctor’s mouth with a low groan that seemed to draw out forever.

John swallowed thickly as his own pleasure peaked, causing him to groan around the cock still pulsing in his mouth. It was utterly sinful, and John loved it. As the last few shudders of his orgasm ripped through him he pulled off of Sherlock, sucking softly as he did just to watch the detective shiver under him again.

Wiping the bit of spit and cum that had dripped from the corner of his mouth away with the back of his hand John leaned back on his heels, resting his cheek on Sherlock’s clothed knee. The soft fabric made his skin tingle slightly, his nerves still careening from the orgasm. He didn’t move back to his seat quite yet, but he did fix his trousers after wiping himself clean with Sherlock’s handkerchief.

“You were rather...” John blushed slightly at the recent memory, and how intensely it had affected him “Uhm.. Vocal.”

“And you loved it.” He smirked as he tucked himself back into his pants, making himself presentable once more before plucking the handkerchief out of John’s hands and tucking it back in his pocket. He pulled on John’s arms letting the smaller man’s hips settle between his legs, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around John’s torso. Pressing a light kiss to his forehead, he shifted them until they were quite comfortable in the seat, leaving the partition up for a while so they could regroup.

“I never said I didn’t,” John assured him, leaning back against Sherlock. “I just… You’ve been very creative lately. Not that I don’t like it, I mean I do, you know I do. I just never took you to be this--”

“Sexual?”

“Yes. I mean, what happened to it all being transport? or whatever it is you say?”

“You’re worried I’m doing these things for you, and not because I enjoy sex?”

John pulled himself from Sherlock’s arms so he could turn to face him. His lips pulling to one side as he shrugged and nodded all at once, encouraging Sherlock to answer the question he hadn’t been able to voice.

“During my years at University, I was like any normal person at that age. I did seek out the company of others for my bed out of curiosity and a need to feel wanted. However, when I saw that no matter how explicit I was in telling my partners that I did not want any sort of relationship, one always seemed to start to form from their side. Once it began interfering with my success, I swore it off for a long while. Since then save for a few occasions, long before we met, I had neither the time or desire for such relations. I then met Lestrade, and he kept me fairly busy until I then met you.” 

“Right,” John said softly, nodding in understanding before his brows furrowed, his attention snapping back. “Wait.. What?”

“However John, all of that said, whatever notions you have that I do not enjoy our trysts, you should delete it from your mind. I quite enjoy having sex with you in any way that I can. Surely you didn’t think that as easily as I get bored with things I wouldn’t be this creative? The only reason I have been celibate is because there simply was no place for it in my busy life. And as you like to challenge me with my previous statements, I will save you the time in asking. I say women are not my area because they tend to get attached too quickly and are far too whiny when you are honest with them. Men do tend to take honesty better, and are much sturdier for the type of sex I typically enjoy. Therefore, my body is just a vessel for my mind, but John, the endorphins released in sex are perfect brain fuel, and as we both enjoy it, quite immensely, I don’t see why you should carry on with these silly thoughts that I am having sex with you purely for your benefit. I’m much too selfish for that, on this I think we can both agree.”

“Yeah,” John chided, relaxing and leaning back into Sherlock. “I can definitely attest to you being a selfish arse.” 

He chuckled softly, nuzzling closer to Sherlock now that those thoughts weren’t looming over him. 

“We still have a two hour drive ahead of us, so feel free to sleep if you need.” Sherlock said softly as John relaxed into him, “You’ll have quite a big night, so I would take the chance while you have it.” His tone suggested he was talking about more than just the dinner and dancing with his mother and her guests.

John’s eye’s quickly fell closed, grateful for a couple hours of sleep to quiet his minds reservations about the impending party. Within minutes his breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep, leaving Sherlock to sink back into his mind for the rest of the ride.


	8. These Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the delay. Nanowrimo. Shellysbees was sick. Devokitsune works a lot. life happened. Buttt we're back. We're currently editing as fast as we can to get the rest of this out to you before series three airs in the UK. So.. Here ya go =D.

When John’s eyes opened again it was because he was being shaken softly, Sherlock’s voice pulling him from a dreamless sleep. John blinked rapidly as he sat up, shaking off the grogginess of his nap. His attention was immediately caught by the sprawling estate they were approaching. It was utterly gorgeous, and by far the largest home John had ever seen. He looked back at Sherlock with an incredulous look.

 

“You grew up here? I mean I knew you came from money, but.. here?” There was a mixture of awe and disbelief in his eyes as he turned back to admire the estate.

 

Sherlock smiled and opened the door holding out his hand to help John out of the back seat as a servant came around to get their bags. "Yes I grew up here, but it's not nearly as splendid as you think."

 

When the man stood, Sherlock put an arm around his waist, his long fingers splaying out in the small of his back. "Just stay by my side, it's easy to get lost." With that, he lead them both inside where a butler bowed to them.

 

"Winston, I'm surprised you're still around! This is my flatmate John Watson."

 

"Good to see you again Master Holmes, and please to make your acquaintance Master Watson." He gave another low bow.

 

Nodding to the older gentleman John managed to mutter, "Thanks." Completely unprepared for his posh surroundings. He barely had a chance to glance back at Sherlock before Mycroft was strolling down stairs and into the entry room, Lestrade on his heels, both wearing sharp tuxedos and carrying half masks in matching shades of blues and creams.

 

“Nice of you to show up brother. Should I ask why you kept my driver waiting for thirty-four minutes?” Mycroft smiled wickedly, obviously trying to goad the detective. John looked to Lestrade, as if to say, can you please keep him under control, before sidestepping so he was standing partially in between the two brothers.

 

Mycroft chuckled softly at John's protective stance. "Relax, I wasn't implying anything. I know full well your particular prowess was not what delayed your departure, although I do believe you skills are to be commended Doctor Watson."

 

Blood rushed to the doctors face as he stuttered almost incoherently. "I... You didn't..." John desperately hoped the driver had tipped him off and that the car had not truly been bugged, but he had a feeling it would remain a mystery. Either way he shot a glare back at Sherlock, avoiding the other men's eyes.

 

Sherlock put on an innocent face and shrugged, not really meeting John’s eyes. Lestrade had smacked his forehead before leaning in to whisper something to Mycroft. Whatever he said wiped the wicked smile off of the elder holmes face.

 

“As entertaining as Doctor Watson’s embarrassment is,” Mycroft interrupted gruffly, “Dinner is about to begin.”

 

He straightened his waist coat. “Please do hurry, I do not wish to make excuses for you to Mother’s guests, brother.” His eyes narrowed before turning on the spot.

 

Lestrade offered John a sympathetic look before following Mycroft down the hall. The low hum of the dinner party could be heard in the distance. John turned to Sherlock with a scowl.

 

“I can’t believe he honestly- I did say you’d be paying for that,” John bit, his cheeks a telling shade of pink.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tugged John by the hand. “Come on, we need to go change before we head to the party. I can’t wait to see you in your formal wear.” He added just enough of a purr to his voice to watch the flush spread over John’s cheeks further. However, he pushed onwards, pulling the man after him, denying himself the thoughts of John bent over his mattress due to the need of their presence at the party. Finally he stopped in front of a black door with a brass handle.

 

“Here we are John. I know that you’ve been eager to see this ever since I told you we’d be staying here.” He smirked before turning the knob and pushing the door inside.

 

The room was even more of a reflection of Sherlock than his room back at 221B. It was decorated with dark rich wood furniture and deep colors. The bed was a canopy four poster with dark blue bedding and soft pale sheets. There was a small rounded alcove with two plush chairs nestled inside. They must have added another seat for John once they’d found out he was coming, as there had only been one there when he was growing up. The walls in the alcove were bookshelves, the young detective’s personal library. There was two doors, one led to a large walk in closet, and the other a private bathroom with a tub that could fit several people and a shower to match. Near the windows, there was a step up and a table where his old chemistry set was spread out. There were shelves with several bottles of indiscriminate substances. John stepped out into the center of the large bedroom, taking in all of the details.

 

It was a bit overwhelming for John to realize just where Sherlock had come from, and for a moment the fact that he was supposed to be angry with Sherlock completely slipped his mind. He walked over to the old chemistry setup, trying to take everything in at once. Most of the equipment looked as though had been left mid experiment, Sherlock really hadn’t changed at all.

 

“This was your room?” John asked, chuckling softly as he turned to face Sherlock.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, taking John’s bag and setting it in the closet, where their larger bags had already been placed by Winston when they’d stop to talk with Mycroft. He brought out their suit bags that had their tuxedos in them, and hung them on the end rung of the four poster bed. “If we don’t make it out there soon, We’ll be fetched by Winston.” He started unbuttoning his shirt so that he could dress.

 

John quickly followed suit, undressing as he talked. “Who all is here? It sounded like there were a lot of people down stairs.” His anxiety he’d felt while packing was returning again at the idea of being bombarded by more Holmes’s.

 

Sherlock was pulling on his trousers when he responded. “Oh, no more than a hundred or so. Mummy likes to throw big parties for her birthday. You should have seen the year half of London was invited. That was a ghastly mess.” he shuddered and pulled his shirt on, tucking it in once he’d buttoned it up. “That was the year she did the garden party on the grounds. This year she’s doing a masquerade in the ballroom. Which reminds me. Your mask is in my suitcase. I’ll retrieve it in a moment.”

 

“Right,” John muttered under his breath as he pulled the suit from the garment bag, “Just a hundred.”

 

He had just buttoned his trousers and started pulling on the crisp button up shirt when he paused. John’s shirt hanging off of his shoulders loosely as he turned to stare at Sherlock.

 

“Wait… She has a ballroom big enough for a hundred people?”

 

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, you saw the house.” he was tying his bowtie now, and finished with a flourish. When he turned and saw John’s shirt hanging loosely around his shoulders, he stepped in front of him and quickly did up the buttons himself before plucking his bowtie out of the bag and wrapping it around his neck. He began tying it with steady fingers as he spoke.

 

“You really shouldn’t be nervous John. I’m by far the hardest person in my family to impress, and you’ve already done that. Besides, shouldn’t it be my opinion that matters most?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his gaze from the crisp bow up to John’s blue eyes. For a moment he was caught there, his lips falling open slightly and the need to capture John’s mouth in a kiss was suddenly overwhelming.

 

John nodded his head shortly, trying to still his nerves. “Of course yours matters most,” John assured him while reaching up to straighten his collar. “I just want to make a good impression. That’s all.”

 

Content with Sherlock’s appearance John smiled, his hand’s running down the detective’s chest gently. “The tux suits you nicely.” John murmured, his hand coming to a stop at Sherlock’s hip to pull him closer.

 

Sherlock’s hands had slipped down to John’s shoulders, and now they cradled his neck on either side, fingers tilting the blonde’s head back to look deeper into his eyes. “As does yours. You clean up very well John.”

 

His words were practically a whisper, and he was leaning forward to take John’s mouth in a possessive kiss that would show just how much the sight of John in a bowtie pleased him. However, just before their lips touched a knock echoed through the room, startling both men.

 

“Master Holmes? Your mother is inquiring as to your whereabouts. Will you be along shortly?”

 

“Yes Winston. We’ll be along presently, just changing for dinner.” He smiled crisply at the blonde before pulling away to retrieve their masks. John’s was black and blue while his own his own black and green.

 

“Ready to face the firing squad?” he asked,holding out his arm and the other mask to his blogger.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” John murmured, slipping his mask into place before taking Sherlock’s arm.

 

The only thing like this he’d ever attended were Military Balls, but those had been filled with soldiers like himself, so he’d had no reason to feel out of place.

 

A few long tables filled the dining room, almost every seat taken filled. The room echoed with excited babbling. Taking a breath John allowed himself to be led toward the head of one of the tables near the center of the room. Mycroft and Greg were sitting across from them, leaving one empty seat for their mother.

 

“She’ll be along soon. Mummy always was one for grand entrances.” Sherlock informed him, and in a fit of politeness, he pulled John’s chair out for him. Across the table he saw Lestrade smack Mycroft on the shoulder in a ‘why don’t you ever do that’ gesture.

 

Mycroft’s face twisted slightly, obviously put out that he was being shown up by his little brother. His lips twitched to the side before he let his hand rest over Lestrade’s.

 

Having only met their mother once, and under less than desirable circumstances, John couldn’t honestly say he knew the woman. She had been wonderful at the funeral, understanding of how close he and Sherlock had been, but didn’t treat him as though he was something that might fall to pieces. But that was a funeral for a man that hadn’t really been dead, who was about to see his mother again for the first time.

 

John breathed out heavily, reading himself for another Holmes to enter his life.

 

Sherlock’s head snapped to the door as it opened to their left, and the entire room went silent. In swept the boys' mother in a long blue dress more reserved for a dinner with the queen, but as everyone stood for her, the detective squeezed John’s hand as if to reassure him.

 

She had long dark brown hair that was in ringlets swept to one side of her neck, and the blue dress was perfectly cut to her figure. Her eyes were silver and sharp as she regarded all of them in turn, starting with Mycroft. Her eyes lit on John, and she nodded slightly, but when they landed on Sherlock, only the boys saw the hint of emotion in them. Then with a smile, she regarded everyone else, motioning for them all to sit as she did so herself.

 

“Sherlock my love" she said, turning her gaze on her youngest son, as the room erupted with conversation once more. "So glad to see that you’re not dead.” She held out her hand and he took it, kissing the back of it gingerly.

 

“Good to see you as always mum.” he said with a smile.

 

“And this must be your John. I believe we met once before but not properly.” She offered him a kind smile before turning to Lestrade. John returned the smile, unsure how to respond, happy when the attention was turned to Lestrade and Mycroft instead.

 

“And Detective Inspector, so nice to finally meet you. Mycroft talks about you almost non-stop.”

 

Lestrade’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, “Is that so?” He seemed surprised. Sherlock was as well. Mycroft was not one to rave about anything, much less a relationship. Lestrade must have really tamed his brother. Mycroft simply sent his mother a pleading look, much like an embarrassed teenager, before lacing his fingers through the Lestrade’s affectionately.

 

John was taken aback by the stark differences between the mother and her sons. Where Sherlock and Mycroft were generally calculatingly cold, their temperaments warmed only by a select few, she seemed almost bubbly in comparison. On the other hand she hadn’t seemed at all bothered that Sherlock had been dead for three years, much less moved to be seeing him again for the first time, so John had to consider that she was simply better at socializing

 

It appeared Sherlock was right though, one way or another she seemed to be aware that they were together, considering she’d referred to him as your John when talking to Sherlock.

 

John was trying to remember why he had insisted upon the event, and for once, his hand sought out Sherlock’s beneath the table. It wasn’t that he was particularly nervous, just overwhelmed with all of the new information.

 

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John's giving him a small reassuring smile and squeeze before turning his attention back to his mother. His hand however, moved John's to his knee and held it there as they spoke waiting for their first course to be served.

 

Dinner was quiet and polite, and Madame Holmes was very good at directing her children in small talk, she made sure to keep their significant others a part of the conversation as well.

 

"So John, Mycroft tells me you're an ex-army doctor and that you volunteer at a local clinic, do tell us more about yourself." Her eyes were kind as she spoke, obviously trying to ease the nerves of the four men.

 

John’s manners were impeccable as he set down his fork to respond, “There’s not much else to tell. I help Sherlock with his cases of course. Have you seen the blog?” There was a hint of pride in his voice as he mentioned his writing, one of his favorite parts of working through the cases.

 

"I have." She said, setting her own fork down and steepling her fingers beneath her chin, in a way reminiscent of one sociopathic detective, "I understand you and my son get into all kinds of trouble together." Her eyes brightened and she began to question both John and Lestrade on some of their more serious cases.

 

Conversation began coming easier as they went on, Lestrade and John taking turns sharing stories about past cases. More than a few of which revealed just how rash Sherlock could act at times, but all of them showed how the detective had put his genius to work. Mycroft stayed resolutely silent, letting Lestrade chatter on about his work at the Yard as he enjoyed seconds.

 

Finally once the dessert plates had been cleared away, Madame Holmes wiped her mouth primly and waved a hand towards one of the servants.

 

"Is the ballroom ready?" She asked with a smile, her own dainty cream colored mask sitting beside her plate.

 

"Yes Madame." He said bowing slightly. With a smile the woman stood, tapping her glass with the back of a spoon.

 

"If everyone is ready, the ballroom is prepared for the masquerade! Let us all go and enjoy the rest of the evening with dance and drink!" A chorus of voices rose all around her, and she turned to Sherlock, holding her hand out to him.

 

"I'm sorry to steal your date away from you John, but I think this old woman deserves a dance with her prodigal son." Sherlock smiled at her and squeezed John's hand leaning close.

 

"Don't worry, you'll have your chance to dance with me later." His lips were close to John's ear, but soon enough, his mother was pulling him away, leaving the others to follow.

 

Sherlock and his mother led the entire party through a set of tall double doors and into an enormous ballroom. Everything was decorated to fit the masquerade theme, giving the room a vintage feel.

 

John stuck close to Greg and Mycroft as the crowd of people spilled into the room behind them. The lights dimmed slowly as the large double doors swung closed behind the last of the guests and Sherlock, who was in the center of the empty dance floor, graciously took his mothers hand. The music, as far John could tell, was something instrumental, but not quite classical. They moved fluidly across the floor with a grace that was completely Holmes’.

 

As the song came to a close the audience broke out into applause. The patient crowd slowly dissipated, taking over dance floor as the band picked up a new song.

 

Sherlock had disappeared into the crowd once his brother had come to take his place, and now, he spotted John in the crowd. The blonde's back was to him, which was perfect for his plan as he carefully slipped in behind him, both hands coming down on his hips possessively.

 

"May I have this dance?" His voice was low, the question spoken directly into the smaller man's ear. The song that the quartet on the stage was playing was swelling to the climax, signaling the song was almost over. They would catch the next one easily enough.

 

“I’m actually here with someone,” John teased playfully. A shiver running down John’s spine as he leaned back against Sherlock. “Since when do you dance anyways?”

 

"Look around you. I grew up in a home with a ballroom. You didn't think mummy would have taught us at some point?" Sherlock's fingers danced up Johns's ribs then moved up to his shoulders to turn him around.

 

"Besides, if your date has left you alone, surely the conquest of one dance with someone else is not too harsh a punishment for him." His tone was light and playful. It had been a long time since he'd had the occasion to dance, but being here with John made the guilty pleasure even more desirable.

 

"Please?" He added, taking John's hand and kissing his knuckles with a knowing smile.

 

“Maybe in a bit?” John offered, shrugging off the question. He could feel himself growing red from the intimacy of Sherlock’s touch, but he didn’t pull away. “Shouldn’t we socialize or something anyways?”

 

John looked about nervously, as if looking for a familiar face to insist they go talk to, but the masks, and the fact that he hardly knew anyone, made it difficult.. “You’ve got lots of family here right? I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.”

 

"I'm here for you and mummy. No one else." He said, dropping John's hand with a knowing look, "Besides, the only ones here are distant cousins I barely know. The more important question here is why you are so adverse to dancing with me. Do you not know how to dance Captain?"

 

He threw the rank in teasingly, but when John shifted his weight from foot to foot, Sherlock frowned. "John, you really don't know how to dance do you?"

 

“I know how to dance.” John retorted unconvincingly. “I mean… Okay, no not really. Not like this.”

 

He shrugged sheepishly, looking down at the ground. “But it’s fine, We can just mingle, or whatever it is people do at these things.”

 

He attempted to pull away from Sherlock, only to be stopped by a hand catching his wrist, pulling him back in.

 

"I want to dance, and seeing as you're the only one here I want to dance with..." He pulled the man up against his chest and settle his free hand onto the blonde's lower back, "I guess I will just have to teach you."

 

John attempted to protest, but was quickly cut off as the next song started. It was a slow waltz that was perfect, and Sherlock pulled John just to the small space at the center of the dance floor. Only the few couples around them would see them, and they had enough room in case John blundered.

 

"Now, just feel the beat of the music. It's in three four measure." He started swaying with the man to the music, showing him which way they would be going, “You're going to step on every beat, but you will only move on the first beat for now. Here we go, right two three left two three..."

 

He helped John going from side to side, and once John had learned that well enough, he started them in a slow spin as they waltzed.

 

"Don't look now John Watson, you're dancing."

 

“Don’t push it,” John teased, grinning at Sherlock.

 

He’d managed to relax, mostly following Sherlock’s lead as they swayed around the dance floor. By the end of the song his steps became more sure, and he kept a hold on Sherlock’s hand as the next song started.

 

“I suppose I could stand for another dance.” John murmured, ignoring the smug look of satisfaction on Sherlock’s face. “I had no idea you enjoyed dancing, figured it’d be something you’d consider dull.”

 

"It's a bit like playing chess, only having to make your partner look good instead of making your opponent look bad." He did feel a sense of smugness, John wasn't nearly as uncoordinated as he'd thought he would be. The next song was a little more upbeat, but thankfully still a waltz, and he spurred them into motion, pulling John through the crowd on the floor as well.

 

"It's Intriguing to dance with you though, I didn't think you would pick up on it quite so quickly." He smiled primly and tipped his head forward so that they could look into each others eyes, "it's slightly new for me as well. I've never danced with someone I actually enjoy spending my time with."

 

“I’ve danced before.” John explained a little slowly, his mind still preoccupied with the coordinated steps. “Just not like this. It generally consisted of swaying back and forth on the spot.”

 

“We seem to be attracting a bit of attention.” John murmured, trying not to look away from Sherlock despite the interested looks of those around them.

 

"I do take after my mother just a bit." He said, moving to take John in sweeping circles over the dance floor, in and around the other dancers, "You should know better than anyone that I'm a bit if a show off."

 

“Ah yes,” said John playfully. “That’s what we do isn’t it, show off?”

 

Slowly, people started backing off until there were just a few couples dancing, and as the song wound down Sherlock pulled them in tighter circles, until the music stopped and the room exploded with applause for the string quartet and the dancers.

 

"Perhaps we should take the opportunity to dance more often doctor." He smiled beneath his mask, his hand releasing John's to tilt his chin up with one finger, "Just one more thing you've surprised me with..." His eyelids drooped, fanning his lashes over the bit of skin visible of his cheeks through his mask, and he leaned forward as if to capture Johns lips in a kiss.

 

"May I cut in?" Came a petite voice from behind him. Sherlock turned to see his cousin Marie standing expectantly behind him.

 

"Ah. Marie." He said, barely masking his annoyance at her presence, "I suppose I could spare a dance." He said through grit teeth.

 

"Not with you silly, with your handsome friend." Sherlock's growl was cut short as the girl took John’s hand and whisked him away, leaving the detective to run through his file on torture that wouldn't leave marks.

 

John chuckled, seeing the look of absolute frustration on Sherlock’s face as he was pulled away. He attempted to take over leading as the next song began, not quite obtaining the same fluidity.

 

“Marie?” John asked politely, “Are you related to Sherlock?”

 

She had dark hair and bright blue eyes, but the contagious smile was so unHolmes like he wasn’t quite sure.

 

"Distant cousin." She said, tossing her hair as if it didn't matter, "but I'm more interested in talking about you." Marie helped him along by leading a little herself, covering up his mistakes by leading him in the proper direction.

 

"You're John Watson. I read your blog, or rather I read it before, you should really consider writing more often." Light sparkled in her eyes as she spoke, "Your adventures with my cousin are absolutely intriguing."

 

"We've been taking it easy as of late," John offered in explanation for his lapse in posts. It was true, after everything that had happened in December, they'd both agreed it was time to step out of the limelight.

 

"Besides, I just write it down, Sherlocks the one that drags me into all. I love it, it's brilliant, but Sherlock's definitely the instigator in all those adventures." John smiled fondly, glad not all the Holmes family was quite as abrasive as Sherlock and Mycroft.

 

"Oh you poor dear. I'm sure my cousin must drive you bonkers. It's no wonder you've stayed a bachelor for so long. Maybe you just need a woman who understands what he's like"

 

It was an obvious attempt at flirting, and she smiled wide, apparently convinced that John would flirt back. Her hand tightened in his and she tossed her curls with a girlish smile.

 

"Oh."

 

John's eyes widened slightly, a little surprised. Making a point to put a bit of space between them he shook his head.

 

"You're right, he does drive me absolutely mad, but I love it. Sherlock and I are together, have been for quite some time now."

 

It was the first time John had actually had to tell someone. With their friends it had been easy, if not obvious. He smiled, a little proud to be announcing to someone that they were in fact together, all labels aside.

 

"Well of course you-" it took a minute to sink in before she understood, "Oh! You two are together.oh my word and I've just stolen you away. How rude of me!"

 

Her blush was crimson as they stopped dead on the dance floor. She took John by the hand and a path seemed to clear for her. She found Sherlock leaning against a wall, having obtained two champagnes, one for him and one for John.

 

"Here, I've brought you your doctor back." She said, her flush seeming to deepen as she released John's hand.

 

"Oh? Not your type Marie?" The detective asked, his smile tight but condescending, "I thought you liked men who were already spoken for."

 

She paled, "That was only once and I had no idea... I..." She turned to John as if he would help her then scowled when she knew he would not, "Enjoy your madness doctor..." She spat before turning on her heel and stalking away.

 

"Hmmm did you tell her or did she figure it out on her own?" Sherlock asked, slipping the glass of champagne into John's hand.

 

“I told her,” John chuckled, slightly amused by the entire thing. “I was surprised really, I mean come on, how often do you see two blokes dancing together for the hell of it.”

 

“Perhaps she merely thought I was teaching you to dance. It’s not unheard of.” He smirked into his glass and bit off a jab at the doctor’s previously jaded sexuality concerns.

 

John looked to Sherlock, raising his glass slightly. “You can relax you know. No harm done, just a dance… Besides she seemed to feel bad enough about it as soon as she realized…” His voice trailed off as he sipped at his glass. “No need to get jealous.” John teased as he lowered his glass, revealing a playful smirk.

 

“Nonsense. Jealousy would imply that I have a fear that you will leave me for someone else. I know that you are attracted to my intellect, and as it were, things are going great between us. Therefore since we haven’t been fighting, and the only other people here that truly match my intellect are Mycroft, and my mother, who I doubt you’d want any part of either, there is no need for me to be jealous.” He sipped his champagne and sniffed haughtily.

 

“Besides, who else would shag you into next week like I do? Greg? Spare me the insult.”

 

John’s eyes widened slightly beneath his mask, surprised by Sherlock’s quick response.

 

“I was teasing,” John laughed shaking his head. “Good to know you’re so secure. Come on,” John quickly finished off his champagne and set it on a table behind them, grabbing Sherlock’s hand. “I could use some more practice.”

 

Guiding Sherlock back out onto the floor John began moving to the music much easier than before. “Perhaps we can make sure no one else makes the same mistake your cousin did.”

 

Sherlock wrapped an arm easily around John’s waist, taking his hand and spinning him into a quickstep, “Perhaps.”

 

The night wore on, and Sherlock did end up introducing John to quite a bit of the family that was present, only because they wanted to hear about their adventures and John’s blog. And they spent plenty of time dancing and drinking. The party was winding down, and finally, Sherlock’s mother announced that they were about to start the last dance. It was slow and romantic, and every couple got out onto the dance floor to sway to the rhythm together.

 

Sherlock drew John close against him, and they danced close together, the detective resting his cheek against the blonde’s temple as they swayed. About halfway through, the detective spun them both out onto a veranda, and slowed their spinning until they were next to the balcony. Placing both hands on the doctor’s hips, he sat him up on the railing, and slipped between his spread legs.

 

“Have you enjoyed yourself tonight?” He asked, his nose brushing along the hollow of the doctor’s tanned throat.

 

“Very much so.” John assured him, his hands coming to rest at Sherlock’s waist. “A lot more than I thought I would honestly.” He gripped Sherlock’s hips lightly, pulling him closer.

“What about you? Everyone seemed pretty pleased to see you.”

 

“That’s not why I enjoyed my evening.” he said, relishing in the feel of their shared moment alone when they had been surrounded by people all night, “And I know that it’s not over yet.”

 

His tone was suggestive, but his smile only magnified it. Both hands slipped underneath the doctor’s suit coat, smoothing over his back possessively as he pressed their bodies together, his arms keeping John from teetering on the edge dangerously. He looked up at John, their eyes meeting and his lids lowering over his eyes. He’d been wanting to kiss the man all night, but social convention kept him from doing so. Finally they were alone and he could claim this soldier as his own once again. One hand freed itself from the jacket, curling over the back of his neck, pulling him down and Sherlock could feel the ghost of John’s breath against his lips.

 

Suddenly a very loud throat clearing jolted him into awareness, and keeping a firm grip on John, turned to see his mother in the doorway. How had he not heard her approach? Damn it all the doctor muted his mind in the best and worst ways.

 

“Sorry to interrupt darling.” She said softly, coming now to stand beside them, her heels clicking regally as if she were royalty instead of just rich, “But I was wondering if I could speak to your John and Mycroft’s Gregory alone for a moment.” Sherlock noticed Greg trying to look nonchalant just inside the doors.

 

“You have the worst timing mother, but it is your birthday, I suppose I can’t refuse.” The brunette said, obviously disappointed.

 

“Why don’t you go find Mycroft and help Winston dismiss the guests. Most all of them will be returning home tonight.” Sherlock only nodded his head before letting one hand snake down John’s arm to squeeze his hand, then turned and headed inside.

 

“Come along now Gregory,” Madame Holmes said, her voice light as she held her hand out to him, “Come out and have a seat with us, I’d like to have a small chat with the two of you.”

 

John hopped down from the railing as Sherlock slipped back inside. John and Greg both shared a companionable look before following Madame Holmes over to a table and sitting down. Both men looked worried, John still flushed with embarrassment.

 

"Boys I am not going to give you the typical speech a parent might give when meeting their child's significant other for the first time. If you haven't noticed, we Holmes' do things a little differently." She leaned forward a little as if they were sharing a secret, "So relax."

 

A breath of relief seemed to come from both men as they settled into their seats.

 

Madame Holmes carefully removed her white dinner gloves and folded them in her lap, "I actually wanted to thank you two. I have never seen my boys so happy. A dinner without them bickering hasn't happened since Sherlock was old enough to understand what sarcasm was." She sighed lovingly and shook her head at the thought.

 

"They may not show it, but you both have had a big impact on their lives." Her smile faltered then, "They didn't have particularly happy childhoods, and to see them happy as they once were so long ago, well, it makes me very happy."

 

“Mycroft has told me that you are both aware of the true identity of James Moriarty.” Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke, and she took a moment to compose herself, “The man was very... good at mental manipulation. When he left... well the word distraught does not truly sum up what I was going through.”

 

She cleared her throat primly, and continued in a stronger voice, “I was weak, and it was in the most important stage in my boys’ lives. Sherlock was barely a year old, and Mycroft was five. Winston assisted as well as he could, but eventually a nanny was needed, because I could not function to do it on my own. However, our choice was poor, and the woman was a terrible nanny. I won’t go into too much detail on the matter, but she was abusive.” She looked at Greg pointedly, who nodded solemnly in understanding, and then at John, who looked utterly shocked.

 

“After that, Mycroft was about ten when he finally told someone in the house what was going on, and the woman was fired immediately. However, he had grown up very quickly in those five years, and convinced Winston somehow that he was capable of making some decisions in the house. God knows how, but seeing him the way he is now, I’m no longer surprised.”

“His first decision was that there was to be no more nanny’s and for a while, he raised Sherlock himself. I myself struggled with my own demons. An addiction to alcohol and prescribed pills, and after a trip to the A & E for an overdose straightened me out. By that time, Sherlock was almost through secondary, and Mycroft already finishing his first degree with his University. I had missed my children’s entire lives because I was too weak to admit I had a problem.”

 

She smiled softly and looked away for a moment, a wetness in her eyes threatening to spill over, “You can imagine the damage done when one boy who had seen so much hurt done to his family simply by trusting people tried to raise his younger brother in a way to avoid that weakness. I am no stranger to the unhealthy lifestyles of my children, but I am the only one to blame when it comes down to it. So I attempt to bring them together as often as I can, just hoping to see a bit of happiness, but I have failed where the two of you have so easily soared.”

 

“I’ve never seen my boys let anyone into their lives like they have the two of you,” She smiled warmly, “They care for you so much in their own ways, I’m afraid Mycroft is a little better at expressing it than Sherlock.” The regal woman reached forward, taking John’s hand in her very small, cold one.

 

“You have to understand. He was raised to believe that loving someone, caring for someone, even trusting them was not only weakness, but potentially dangerous.”

 

John nodded, squeezing her hand softly. He’d known that Sherlock’s childhood was less than ideal, but he’d had no idea that the brunette had gone through so much. There was silence between the three of them for a few moments before Madame Holmes pulled her hand back.

 

"So you see, my sons may seem strong and emotionless, but they can be very fragile." She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear as she sat back, her emotions once again tucked away in that very Holmesian manner,"I pray that you two can continue along with this path. You are the best thing that has ever happened to them." Her eyes were sharp then and there was no mistaking the unspoken or else. Both men nodded resolutely, a little taken aback by the sudden onslaught of information.

 

"Now, I think it's best for you to retire for the evening, I know that Winston has arranged a horseback outing for us tomorrow. We'll start all together I'm told, but there will be plenty of time for you to go off on your own after for a picnic lunch, afterwards, I've requested for an early dinner so you all might make it back to London before too late. I'll take up no more of your time then, I'm sure you'll find the boys not too far off." She gave them a small wink before standing and bidding the men goodnight.

 

John nodded and thanked her for the lovely evening, followed by Lestrade, and when she had gone back inside John was the one that broke the silence.

 

“Bloody hell.” Having stood to see Madame Holmes off he collapsed back into the chair, still overwhelmed with all the new information. “Did you have any idea?”

 

“I had my suspicions, but I never knew the details. There are times when I’ll touch him a certain way and he clams up, he doesn't like it if I sneak up on him, accidentally or otherwise, there’s all kinds of signs I’ve seen in others before. Once I found out about Moriarty actually being their dad... well... I thought it was all explained.”

 

John rubbed at his face absently. “Yeah, I mean it makes sense I guess… Have to say I didn’t see that coming. I was expecting the talk or something.” He looked to Greg, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“I am glad she told us, in a way. I mean, they suddenly make a hell of a lot more sense...” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin, “Sherlock especially...”

 

“Yeah it does,” John murmured softly, staring off unfocustedly. After a few moments he shook his head, not wanting to think on the subject too much. “How are you and Mycroft anyhow?”

 

The detective inspector shrugged as he sank back down into his own chair. It had been some time since he and John had gone out for a pint and a chat, and he wasn't too eager to get back to Mycroft just yet.

 

"Oh I'm sure you know how it is. It's no bed of roses, but we make each other happy most days, and that's what's important right?" He gave John a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair before looking back up at the doctor.

 

"I've been trying to decide how to broach the subject of my kids with him. I mean I wanted to make sure this was all fairly stable before I integrated the bloody nutter into their lives... But Sylvia's demanding more child support and I can't keep paying on a flat I hardly use... It's a conversation I'm not quite ready to have..." He took a deep breath and shook his head, "Guess you and Sherlock had it easy, you were already living together." He smiled.

 

"What about you two? How's that going?"

 

“Yeah... I supposed we did, have it easier I mean,” he offered the man an apologetic glance before letting out a deep breath and shifting on the sofa slightly. “But yeah, things are going good. Well since that day down at the Yard, we worked it out. Again sorry about that.”

 

Greg hadn’t called for a case since the incident and he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t have one or he was avoiding calling them back in after that. “Everything’s back to normal, or as normal as it gets with them I suppose... Thank you, for helping with that.” His lips quirked to the side in thought, “You know I’m here for you too. We both know how overwhelming they can be. If you ever need to just get out, grab a pint or something... I’m here.”

 

John was a little worried for him after all. Sherlock and him had gone their rounds, but he could honestly say that they were doing well, fantastic in many respects, but Greg seemed utterly spent. He supposed being pulled from so many different directions didn’t help, what with his ex and his kids.

 

When Greg's eyes returned to John's he smiled warmly, his expression thankful. "Yeah, since Sherlock's come back, you and I haven't really had time to be proper mates have we?"

 

John shrugged half-heartedly, the weight of the conversation finally hanging on him. “I wasn’t much of one before he came back either... I’m still sorry for that, with the divorce and everything.. I should’ve been there.”

 

"Oh shove it with that! Don't pity me just yet, I have the tame brother, I don't think I could keep up with Sherlock if I tried..." He chuckled softly at the thought, "I can barely keep up with him on cases, I don't know how you do it." John laughed with him, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

 

“I have no idea, half the time I’m not sure I am keeping up.” They laughed heartily for a moment more, but soon Lestrade’s face fell, the confession earlier coming to mind once more.

 

"I suppose Mycroft will be fine with me moving in, his home is rather large. It's the kids I'm worried about. And after what we just heard..." He shook his head and looked away, as if what he had to say next was very hard for him to admit. "Sylvia says if I don't start spending more time with them she'll file for full custody... I don't... I don't know what to do John... I spend as much time with them as I can, and I know if things worked out I could spend more time with them but..." He sighed "I just keep thinking about whether he likes kids or not...."

 

The detective inspector buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled by the palms when he spoke again, "Listen to me... I sound like an insecure and overdramatic teenage girl..." He looked up at the doctor once more, "What would you do in my situation?"

 

John was quiet for a moment, he barely spoke to his own family, save for Harry, and Sherlock and Harry got on well enough anyways, he’d never really dealt with something like this. He couldn’t imagine himself with a child, much less asking Sherlock to ostensibly become a parent. Still he looked back to Lestrade resolutely.

 

“You have to just ask him. Lay it all out, you said yourself, you have the tame one.” He smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “He may not be Sherlock, but not much gets past him. I’m sure he knows the situation you’re in and is just waiting for you to broach the subject. I’d say be gentle about it, but I don’t think you really have to worry about that when it comes to Mycroft. He’s met your kids yeah?”

 

"Not yet, but it's not as if they're little punks. Thank god they're mostly like me and not their mother..." He sighed and let his head fall back.

 

"I suppose you're right though..." He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration before standing, "Well we'd better get back, who knows what kind of mischief they'll be getting into without us there." He smiled and clapped John on the shoulder, "and thanks again mate."

 

“Anytime,” John murmured as he stood to lead them out of small sitting room. It didn’t take long to find Sherlock and Mycroft. John could see them across the entryway in what looked like a study of sorts, sitting across from each other at a small table. As they got closer John’s brow pinched together in confusion. They were both glaring pointedly at each other across an untouched chessboard.

 

John coughed to pull the pair from their reverie. “What are you doing?” he gestured toward the untouched board and looked back and forth between the two men.

 

Mycroft’s brows raised and he shrugged one shoulder noncommittally as he rose from his chair. “It was his idea, playing chess in our mind. A test of skill and memory.” Abandoning the unfinished game Mycroft stood to move behind Lestrade, taking his hand quickly without a second glance back.

 

“Bed?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft, like he was actually asking if Greg would be willing to join him. John couldn’t help but smile at the exchange.

 

Greg's face softened into a knowing smile. He squeezed Mycroft's hand and nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice just as soft,"I wanted to talk to you about something anyway." He let the older man lead him away, and together the detective and his blogger watched them go.

 

"Disgustingly sweet isn't it?" He asked, one hand sliding across John's back, welcoming him back into the curve of his arm, "Thank god we aren't like that."

 

John allowed himself to be pulled in to the detectives grasp, but the words echoed through his mind tauntingly. Were they really not like that? There were times when they were sweet, yes. They normally centered around make up’s, holidays, and sex, but they could be loving like that. A pang ran through Johns gut, something he couldn’t quite place. It was an inkling of fear, something John hadn’t realized he’d wanted, something apparently Sherlock did not want.

 

"Come on then Captain, let’s go to bed."


	9. Animal

"Come on then Captain, let’s go to bed."

Any part of the internal crisis that had managed to show on his face at hearing those words was quickly swept away with the offer. John had been itching to get Sherlock alone, and he was not about to try and vocalize his moment of doubt.

Smiling suggestively he allowed himself to be led out of the room. Trying not to think about the fact that they were supposed to go horseback riding in the morning he reminded the detective of a certain promise he’d made in the car that morning.

Sherlock felt a shiver pass down his spine at John’s reminder. he conveniently didn’t remind John that he was supposed to be in trouble. “Patience,” he hissed, pulling John against his chest as they stopped at a door, “Patience is a virtue, or so I’m told.” He smiled down at the doctor before turning the knob and opening the door.

“Mycroft’s room is in a different wing of the house entirely, so you can be as loud as you like...” he said stepping up behind John, his arms wrapping loosely around the smaller man’s waist as his lips brushed against his neck, curls tickling the shell of his ear, “No one will hear you screaming my name.” He moaned softly letting John feel the vibrations up and down his throat.

John’s shoulders rolled back on their own accord, pressing his body closer to Sherlock’s behind him. He was convinced Sherlock knew exactly how sinful his voice could be. The slightly deeper tone he employed shot straight to John’s groin, causing him to moan softly as his hands moved to cover the arms wrapped around his own waist. 

“So many promises dear,” The endearment fell from his tongue before John had a chance to stop himself. Not wanting to give Sherlock a chance to react, or pull away given what he’d just said about Greg and his brother, John turned in his arms to face him. Raking his hand through the soft curls, John cupped his hand against Sherlock’s neck, pulling his mouth down against his own.

The endearment hadn’t escaped Sherlock’s notice, but rather sent a wary chill down his spine. Then John’s lips were on his and all thought slowed. His focus honed in to John’s lips and what they were doing as his hands easily gripped his hips, pulling them into his own. Oh he’d been waiting on this all day. He took a few steps, pushing the doctor back until they were pressed up against the wall.

A growl started in his chest and ripped it’s way up his throat as he placed desperate almost sloppy open mouthed kisses down the hollow of his throat. His hips canted up into the other man’s eliciting a moan from the brunette as his fingers slid down John’s ribs and hips. Gripping the blonde’s thighs tightly, he hitched them up and around his hips, using the wall to aid him, the movement fitting their hips together so that they lined up perfectly. 

Wrapping his legs around the detective, John pulled their hips closer together. Leaning forward he began trailing along Sherlocks exposed neckline. Letting out small gasps of pleasure in between kissing and biting the alabaster flesh, as their hips rolled together perfectly.

John stopped when he reached Sherlock's earlobe. Nipping and sucking at the delicate skin before he began whispering in the detectives ear, his lips just brushing against his skin, "What happened to patience?"

There was a knowing smile on Johns face as he worked back down the detective's neckline, adjusting himself against the wall so that their clothed members rutted together. John moaned at the restricted contact, wrapping his arms tight around Sherlock’s shoulders and burying his face against the others neck. Canting their hips together again as best he could, pressed tightly between Sherlocks thin frame and a wall, John let himself moan against the hot flesh beneath his lips.

Sherlock moaned at John's words and slammed his hips into John's causing the smaller mans lower back to hit the wall. "Because I just can't resist the look on your face when you learn something new about me. You're such a tease John, how am I supposed to have patience when you look so..." He thrust his hips in a long and slow movement , his voice a gravelly purr against the blonde's lips with his next word, "Enticing."

He shifted John up so that his arse settled right on top of Sherlock's clothed erection, making the smaller man taller now. The detective captured his lips in a hungry kiss as he pulled away from the wall, moving John to the bed where he lowered both of them. He was rutting desperately against the blonde as their tongues practically battled for dominance. When the younger finally pulled away his lips were swollen and his face was flushed.

"I'll be right back..." He said breathlessly, "if you aren't naked when I get back, you can forget about my promise." And with that said, he bounded off into the closet.

John let out a frustrated groan as cold air replaced the space where Sherlock had been just moments before, but he heeded the threat. They had tested each other enough for John to be sure that they were both equally hard headed, if he wasn’t stripped naked when the detective returned he might just follow through with it.

He wriggled his way out of the confining garments, never fully leaving the bed as he threw them to the side. A small sigh escaped his lips as he finally tore away his pants, freeing his already stiff member. It bobbed against his stomach, moving slightly with his heavy breaths. Throwing his head back into the mattress John growled impatiently.  
“Sherlock...”

Oh what that growl did to the already painful stirrings in his trousers. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and an involuntary shiver ran up his spine. Carefully removing the black plastic bag from his suitcase, he forced himself to walk back into the room as if unaffected by John's needy voice. What he saw almost made him stop.

The man was naked as he'd asked him to be, and spread out like a treat just for him. Oh this would be fun indeed. "Lay on your stomach with the pillows underneath you." He said as he moved to the side of the bed. He set the sack on the ground and rooted around in it a moment before sliding one pale hand up the doctor's thigh, cupping his testicles lightly. His eyes glinted with mischief as he pressed a knuckle against the sensitive spot behind them.

"I hope you are ready." The smirk was implied as his tongue darted out to trace the Cupid's bow of his upper lip.

“God yes.” John groaned, pressing his body into the detectives deft fingers, his lids falling closed over his eyes. When the touch pulled away he had to bite back the whine that threatened to spill from his lips. Breathing heavily, eyes half lidded, he rolled to his stomach.

Anticipation was curling in his gut as he spread his legs slightly, his hands tucked comfortably beneath one cheek. He knew Sherlock had something planned, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what was in the mysterious bag that had been procured from the closet. His interest was more curiosity than anything, so he waited, squirming slightly to create a bit of friction against his hard member.

"Stop that." The detective delivered a light swat on the doctor's arse to still his squirming before his hands moved feather light over his body, putting him in the position he desired. First, lithe fingers pulled on Jon's hips, setting him up on his knees, legs spread just wider than hip distance. Then, they pushed down between his shoulder blades, keeping his chest pushed to the mattress, leaving him totally open and vulnerable to Sherlock.

"Head back." He purred, and when the doctor compiled a black blindfold was slipped over his eyes and tied behind his head. Then, deft fingers pulled his arms above his head, where a soft but strong material was tied tightly around his wrists, double knotted to ensure he couldn't get out of it.

John’s breath hitched as he tested the bonds on his wrists, they didn’t budge. A jolt of excitement raced through his limbs. This wasn’t what he had been expecting, not at all, but he also hadn’t expected the prospect of being tied up at Sherlock’s mercy to be this arousing. The new position he had been set in did not help his arousal any. His cock twitched in anticipation and frustration as it hung heavy between his spread thighs.

"I've been anticipating this since I found out we were staying here. My bed at home isn't properly set up for this..." Sherlock’s weight moved off the bed and a sharp intake of breath was heard. "Oh John, you should see yourself right now. The only thing keeping me from ravaging you now is the knowledge that my plan once executed will be so much better..." A hand ghosted down John's spine hungrily.

The light touch was intensified by the fact that John couldn’t see where it was coming from. A small shiver followed after the detectives fingers, eliciting a soft sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Pressing the side of his face into the soft duvet beneath him John breathed heavily, trying to calm his lust and listen for Sherlock’s next moves.

Sherlock however was silent as he moved, reaching down to the glass he'd stowed away before John had finished speaking with his mother. The clink of the glass was loud in the quiet of the room, and then Sherlock's fingers were touching John. One hand settled across the tanned cheeks, the other traced a piece of ice from the top of his tailbone slowly up his spine, letting the water that melted pool in the curve of his lower back before tracing it up further between his shoulder blades.

By the time the searing cold had reached the base of his neck John was practically writhing in his bonds. Words were utterly beyond him as his breathing quickened, squirming beneath Sherlock’s ministrations.

Sherlock’s own breath was coming in short pants as he moved the ice cube down his ribs, then up between his thighs, careful not to touch the hot erection. Gradually the ice melted away and only Sherlock's light touches were on John's skin. Suddenly a cold tongue pressed to the back of John's testicles, a smile evident on the detectives face.

A guttural cry ripped from John’s chest as he instinctual pulled away from the deliciously painful sensation, only to press back against the slowly warming muscle immediately after. His fingers twisted in the edge of the duvet, unable to do anything else as he rocked back into the detectives mouth, his entire body already begging for more.

Sherlock hummed in response before pulling away. The ice in the glass tinkled again and this time the younger man drew abstract patterns over each globe of John's rear in turn before drawing it in an agonizingly slow streak down between his bollocks and the sensitive underside of his shaft. The reaction was instant, the doctor bucked into nothing, biting into the covers pressed against his face to keep from outwardly crying out at the sensation.

The shivers the doctor was making had Sherlock so hard in his trousers that he worried his zipper might burst. He wasn't going to allow himself the pleasure of releasing his cock just yet, there was still so many plans he had to set in motion.

Soon a pair of slick fingers probed at John's entrance, the first slipped inside easily, followed by the second which was met with only a little resistance. They moved shallowly, looking for John's prostate. His plan was to have the blonde begging to be fucked before the night was over.

John immediately began pressing back onto the long fingers inside of him. The shallow strokes left him aching for more, but as one carefully timed stroke brushed the sensitive nub the doctor almost collapsed into the bed as he moaned deeply.

“Fuck Sherlock..” he practically whimpered, his words muffled against the mattress.

“Tell me when you’re close John, and know that if you don’t I can make this practically unbearable for you.” He smirked and nipped at the man’s arse before climbing on the bed, getting comfortable and beginning to tease his prostate relentlessly. He started slowly, pushing his fingers in, making sure to caress the little nub with each stroke, then once the doctor began squirming, he scissored his fingers, pressing lightly on it with each finger as he moved.

When Sherlock noticed that the doctor was getting antsy, he set into a fast, hard pace, his fingers curling downwards with shallow thrusts, stimulating the pleasure center inside of John in an almost constant stream. The new pace caused a gasp to escape from his lips, which quickly changed to a stifled moan.

“John, stop biting at those sheets, I want to hear your voice.” He growled. His free hand palmed his own straining hardness lightly, causing a soft moan to escape his lips.

Turning his face away from the mattress slightly John panted heavily in between desperate cries and moans. The tension was quickly curling in his abdomen as his muscles began to tighten around the digits working inside of him.

“Feels so good Sherlock,” his words were barely above a whimper as he rolled back into the pleasure, but remembering the earlier demand he managed to cut out the next words quickly, “Close.. Fuck I’m close.”

The detective pulled his fingers away immediately, his body retreating off the bed entirely.

“Good John.” he cooed softly as he moved around the bed, back to his black bag, “Take a few moments to calm down.” The detective waited a few moments, allowing John to come back from the brink before letting his cool hand travel down the curve of his back. He removed a few things from the bag and set them on the bedside table before stretching his body out beside the blonde’s close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from Sherlock’s body, but not close enough that they were touching.

“You’re gorgeous like this...” Sherlock whispered in the man’s ear. He pressed a slow kiss to the doctor’s panting lips before pulling away once more, “I think this is the most aroused I’ve ever seen you, except for a few weeks ago.” He let the smirk on his face creep into his voice as his hand smoothed through the short hair and down his neck to knead the muscles in his bad shoulder, hoping the position wasn’t causing too much of a strain on the damaged tissue.

“I’ll give you a choice John.” he said, sitting up and leaning over the prone man so that he could feel the taller man’s aching erection against his rear. “We can either stop now, and I will pound you into this mattress as hard as I can, or we can continue with this game, and I will do so after. It’s only a little more, and I know you’ll love it, but I’m torn between hearing you scream in pleasure or just fucking your brains out prematurely. I’ll leave the decision to you.” His voice was raspy with lust as he spoke, his throat clicking softly as he swallowed.

John’s breath shook as he rolled his hips back against Sherlock, his desire curling again at the thought of being fucked senseless by the man pressed against him. He licked his lips, thinking, because as desperately as he wanted to get off a part of him wanted to see what else Sherlock had planned for him.

His body was beginning to relax, as he slipped away from the brink of orgasm. Swallowing thickly he nodded against the mattress.

"I want to keep playing,"

The words were barely above a whisper, but he knew Sherlock could hear him. Just saying the words aloud made him squirm desperately again. Not entirely sure what all he'd agreed to, but all too willing to find out.

“Good choice.” he said simply before retreating again. This time it was three fingers that probed at his entrance with more lube. They worked clinically, only stretching him to make sure he was ready before pulling them out completely.

The subtle noises of Sherlock undressing came, and the bed dipped down beside his face, his hands shifting him so that his head was propped up on his forearm, his face now accessible to the brunette. “Alright John,” he said softly as a warm finger coaxed his mouth open, “No matter what happens, hold this position, and remember what I said. Tell me if you’re getting too close.”

John barely had a chance to mumble his understanding before the warm head of Sherlock’s cock pressed against the doctor’s lips, as something wet and roughly the same size as said member pressed against his hole, threatening to push inside.

The more foreign object made John stiffen for a moment, startled. His mind could have probably been heard by the detective as he realized what was being pressed against his already stretched hole. After a few moments though he relaxed, his mouth opening more as his tongue began exploring the silky head of the member pressed to his lips.

Sherlock smirked and pressed a little more, the head of the blue rubber toy pressing inside of the doctor. A small moan fell from his lips along with whispers of encouragement as his free hand brushed through John’s hair.

“Don’t worry, the differences between this rubber toy and myself are miniscule, its unlikely that you will even feel the difference.” he watched greedily as the blue member in his hands slowly disappeared inside of the warm body beneath him. The hand on the doctor’s head squeezed lightly, willing him to still as he bucked softly into the other’s mouth, not deep enough to even breach his throat, just a gentle sliding of the head over John’s tongue.

“How does it feel being filled from both directions John?” he asked, his voice deep and husky, 

“Good I imagine.” He licked his lips and flicked his fingers over a switch on the base of the toy, and it jumped to life, vibrating pleasantly.

Bucking back at the sudden sensation John only groaned around the cock in his mouth in response to the question, hollowing his cheeks and sucking softly. It was overwhelming, he could do little more than ride out the sensation, but there was no denying the fact that the dual sensation was mind numbingly hot. His cock twitched with need as he gasped around Sherlock’s member, desperate moans slipping out in between ragged breaths. John had never felt anything quite like it, so it was no surprise that he was practically out of his mind with lust, riding back on the vibrating toy as best he could given his position.

Sherlock had to force himself to pull away from John’s desperate musings against his sensitive member to keep himself from getting too close. He shifted back so that he was behind John again, and began thrusting with the buzzing toy. The sight alone was enough to make him moan. He’d been very liberal with the lubrication and it was dripping down the insides of his thighs and down his cock as the toy was thrust in and out of the greedy orifice.

“God John...” he breathed, picking up the pace. His plan involved him bringing John to the brink once more before he could take the smaller man himself. The desire to abort the plan was overwhelming, but he suffered through it as he moved to straddle John’s shoulders, facing backwards. He made sure that he wasn’t putting too much pressure on him, making sure he was still alright before he really started drilling into him with the blue toy. His own heavy arousal pressed against John’s lower back, and he found himself rutting against John’s skin, feeling very sinful at the small canting of his hips when John was so obviously denied the same pleasure.

John was whimpering beneath the detective, barely coherent as his arousal began to peak once again. He would most definitely be paying for the choice of position by the morning, but at the moment he couldn’t be damned. Arching his back into the frantic thrusts he tried to voice how close he was, the vibrations thrusting in and out of him completely wrecking any clear thought.

“Sher- Sherlock. Please.” He didn’t want to come, not like this. Well he did, his body was aching for release, but he wanted Sherlock inside him more than ever before. His voice was breathy and shaky, “I’m so close... Please.” The last plea faded into another desperate moan as back arched a bit more, as the vibrations passed over the swollen bundle of nerves making him writhe against his bonds.

Sherlock cut off the vibrations and eased the toy out of John. He heaved a sigh as he moved off of the doctor, rubbing a hand over his shoulders to ease him back from his near orgasm, and work the muscles so they wouldn’t be stiff.

“You’re doing quite well John.” He said softly, leaning down so that his lips were just touching his ear, “But I meant it when said I wanted to hear you screaming my name. Make no mistake... I will keep fucking you until you do.” The detective felt deliciously in control. As much as he liked giving it up to John, sometimes exercising it could be just as arousing.

He was careful to keep his touches light as John came back from the edge one final time. His own arousal was almost painful, but he chided himself. All in due time.

John keened softly as he thrust his hips back as if he might somehow press back into Sherlock to relieve his frustrations. When he was met with only a cool brush of air against his aching member he conceded, his knees finally giving way so he slumped into the bed. Soft tremors ran across his skin as the imminent orgasm dissipated.

“Sherlock,” he whined, curling onto his side, hands reaching what little they could to find hold on the detective “I don’t think I can take much more of this. Please.”

Sherlock hushed the doctor softly and moved to release his hands from his bonds. “John, it’s alright.” he whispered. His deft fingers quickly undid the knot behind the blonde head, and for the first time since they’d started, he looked John in the eyes. He looked sweaty and desperate for release and Sherlock was more than willing to give it to him.

“As tantalizingly beautiful as you were tied up like that,, I promise it won’t be much longer, now come on, sit back up...” His hands pulled John back into the position he’d fallen out of, and sidled up behind him. “Just close your eyes and feel.” He whispered, one hand wrapping under John’s chest and arm, the other lining himself up. “Remember,” he reminded one last time, “Tell me when you’re close John.” His tongue moved over the sensitive skin behind his ear as he slid inside the smaller man easily. John shuddered as he was filled again, he wasn’t sure he could stand it if the detective stopped again, but he nodded softly, murmuring understanding. A long loud moan brushed against the hair on the back of John’s neck as Sherlock bottomed out inside of him.

“Fuck...” he murmured softly. Sherlock was not one to curse unless he was talking dirty to John, and the expletive was positively filthy coming from his mouth now.

“Oh god Sherlock,” John had barely had time to come back from the edge of his orgasm before Sherlock was filling him. His fingers twisted in the duvet, using the hold as leverage to meet SHerlock’s slow thrusts. He continued to moan, words spilling from his lips in between ragged breaths. “Feels so much better.”

The toy that had been used had been similar size to Sherlock, but it was not the same. Feeling Sherlock’s body line up with his own and being wrapped in his body; there was really no substitute for the skin on skin contact. John could feel the stirrings of an orgasm for the third time that night, but it would take a bit more time. The constant denial had him plateaued at a deliciously painful state of arousal.

Sherlock grunted at the words coming from John. Now that they were joined, he could let himself deliver on his promise. His free hand wrapped around John’s torso as well, and once he had that leverage, he could deliver his first deep and hard thrust. The position with John’s back arched, his chest pushed to the bed and his hips displayed so invitingly allowed him to push further than he had before. The first snap of his hips sent pleasure shooting up and down his spine. Beneath him John whimpered softly, muttering pleas for more.

“John” he moaned loudly before setting into a mind numbing pace. Every thrust was quick and hard and deep, and he lowered his forehead to John’s shoulder, bending them both obscenely as he pounded into the doctor. His breath blasted against the smaller man’s skin as the desire twisting in his belly forced him to thrust even faster. Groaning he felt John’s knees slipping and their position quickly changing.

“John.” He panted, “Wrap your feet around my legs, I’d hate to fall...” he shifted his hips and moaned at the new angle it presented.

Quickly complying John tucked his feet around the detectives legs, latching them together completely. The next thrust caused the doctor to gasp sharpy, finally rewarding Sherlock with the desperate scream he’d been waiting to hear.

“Fuck Sherlock!” The cry was loud and breathy, his body quickly tensing. His own cock was throbbing, begging for release as the deep, hard thrusts pushed him to the brink once again.

“I’m almost there Sherlock, god please don’t stop!” He was begging obscenely loud in between desperate moans and grunts of his own.

“Yes!” he cried out, his hand sliding down John’s stomach to grasp his weeping member. “Come for me John!” He began stroking the man in earnest, his lips parting, taking his shoulder in a sharp bite, just this side of too painful as he snapped his hips faster. He grunted and tried to keep himself from releasing too soon.

His hand stuttered over John’s erection as he cried out, loud and stilted as he finally came deep inside the smaller man. The stimulation and teasing of both John and himself too much for the detective.

Feeling the detective pulsing inside of him sent John over the edge. Crying out Sherlock’s name over and over he thrust his cock into the hand still clasped around him, riding out the blinding ecstasy of the orgasm as he spilled onto the duvet, a sharp contrast to the dark blue. As the final waves crashed over his body John shuddered, muscles still fluttering around Sherlock’s member buried deep within him.

John’s body sagged closer to the bed, completely undone, his breath still short and ragged. After a few moments, when John felt halfway coherent, he opened his eyes, turning slightly to look back over at a rather spent Sherlock.

“That.” John started, speaking between heavy breaths, “Was the. Best shag. Ever.”

Sherlock pulled them both to the side, the bed more than big enough for them to stretch out for the moment to avoid the wet spot. He would clean it up later once he’d recovered. Maybe if he didn’t pass out from the pounding in his head.

“Agreed.” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around the doctor and slowly pulling out of him. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder where he’d bitten him as if to apologize and nuzzled into his hairline. Now that his mind wasn’t preoccupied with the plan he’d had, his mind turned back to the expression he’d seen on John’s face at the comment he’d made earlier. His brows knit together and a niggling thought ate away at him. He’d said that to push away the fact that he knew he would never have that. Not because he didn’t want it. Sometimes if he pretended he didn’t want something long enough, he’d actually believe he didn’t. He’d done it with food and sleep before. And this would make things easier wouldn’t it?

“Sleep now John, you’ll need it before tomorrow.” He pressed another soft kiss to the nape of his neck before tightening his arms around him, and settling in. He knew he had no hope of sleeping, and he figured he would wait until John was deep in his REM cycle before attempting to leave his side.

John relaxed into the slender arms easily, his body exhausted from their efforts. Draping his arm over the pale alabaster one, lacing their hands together he closed his eyes. The lovely part of not being the only consulting detective was that after completely mind numbing sex, there were no thoughts that could keep John from sleep.

“Mmm” he hummed softly in response to Sherlock’s insistence. “You need sleep too,” Mind addled with the sleepy haze creeping up on him John continued to ramble as he nuzzled closer to the man behind him, “Just promise you won’t take off in the middle of the night love, I know when you do.” The words had barely left his lips before his breath began to slow down as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

 

Sherlock’s mind screeched to a halt at John’s sleepy words. He’d called him love. John had called him love. His brain was repeating itself, which meant he’d been totally thrown for a loop. He forced himself to calm down, telling himself people used the term love like a pet name all the time. Somehow he didn’t think that was the case here, so his mind did not accept it fully. However, John’s sleepy nuzzling was wearing at his resolve until finally he reached over, grabbing a rag he’d had on hand, he leaned over and cleaned up the mess. He wiped John off gently, and tossed the flannel off the side of bed. With a small sigh, he wrapped his arms around the doctor once more. His mind was in no way calmed on it’s path, but John rarely asked him for things.

“I promise.” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter was basically shameless smut. Enjoy =).


	10. I Will Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We seem to be developing a habit of ending our chapters with a line of dialogue.. *leshrug* Whatever. You know where to find us.
> 
> Shellysbees on tumblr and twitter  
> VulpineBeesKnees on Tumblr.

“Wake up John,” Sherlock said softly, a kiss pressed to the doctor’s temple, “John you need to wake up if we’re to take a shower before breakfast.” Sherlock had done a lot of thinking the night before, and he thought that perhaps he had read things wrong. Perhaps he could try this ‘sweet’ thing after all, if that’s what John needed. The man deserved that much.

Another kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth. “John, I stayed with you all night, the least you can do is wake up and take a shower with me.”

John’s head lolled toward Sherlock, attempting to return the kiss with his eyes still pressed closed, missing his mark slightly. Letting out a defeated sigh his eyes finally fluttered open, blinking rapidly against the bright light streaming into the room. When he could finally focus on Sherlock he smiled, the detectives curly hair was unruly, the epitome of sex hair even after a night of sleep. 

“Did you actually sleep or did you just lie here all night?” 

“I slept some.” the detective admitted, however he didn’t tell the older man that he’d only caught himself dozing for a few minutes a time or two. He smiled and brushed the side of John’s face. Looking down at him, he pressed a gentle kiss to John’s lips. It was chaste, and a simple touching of the lips, but it made Sherlock’s heart skip a beat.

When he pulled away, his eyes met blue ones, and he let his thumb caress down the side of John’s face. “Now that your questions have been answered can we please have a shower? Mycroft will be along in a little while to fetch us, and I don’t think either of us want to smell like sex when we go horseback riding with my mother.”

“God no, that would definitely be not good.” John leaned into Sherlock’s touch, enjoying the detectives sudden affections. After a moment he moved to sit up, pushing his body up with a groan he stopped with his feet hanging off the edge of the bed as he rolled his sore shoulders. His entire body was aching from the previous night's escapades, but he smiled at the memory all the same. 

Chuckling softly John got to his feet, “Hot shower would do me good anyhow. Bit sore from last night.” He flashed a teasing glance back at Sherlock as he headed for the bathroom that might have been considered accusatory had he not been grinning madly. 

Sherlock followed, his bare footfalls echoing as he entered the bathroom as well. Maneuvering into the shower, he turned it on, one hand under the spray to judge the temperature. Once it was perfect, he poked his head out of the door to beckon the doctor inside. When John moved to follow, he took the smaller man by the hand, and pulled him in the rest of the way, positioning him so that the pleasantly hot water was cascading over their backs.

Then, in a move that he knew would totally surprise the man, instead of pulling him back against his chest as he normally would, his hands moved up John’s arms to his shoulders where they began massaging the tired achy muscles. His thumbs dug in slightly, finding the knots he’d forced there the night before and expertly getting them to release. Once the blonde’s shoulders had relaxed, he moved down to begin rubbing at the extremely tight muscles beneath and around his shoulder blades, cool fingers ghosting over his gunshot scar every now and then.

John couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips as the deft fingers expertly relaxed his tense muscles. John chuckled at the explicit sounds spilling from his lips of their own accord. Rolling his neck to the side he sighed, placing his hands on the side of the wall of the shower to keep his balance as his body completely unwound under Sherlock’s ministrations. 

He moved in to kiss John’s neck, but as the doctor shifted, something caught his eye. The scar on his left shoulder. The detective’s breath hitched and he pulled back, however, to maintain the idea that everything was alright, his fingers continued their mastery. Even though it had been months, and the wound had healed nicely, the scripted S that had been branded into John’s shoulder still knocked the breath out of him. It was raised and just a few shades pinker than the rest of John’s skin, much like the one on his shoulder, but this one was so much worse. The detective’s brows were knit together as he struggled to reclaim the mood he’d had earlier. 

This marring of John’s skin was entirely his fault, that being the case, who was he to deny John anything? He leaned down once more and placed a light kiss on the back of John’s neck, his lips soft and only slightly trembling. He cursed himself in his mind. _Damnit! Get yourself together! Even John is not that much of an idiot._

John hadn’t missed the sudden change in the detectives demeanour. He turned to face Sherlock, unknowingly turning the marked arm so it was in between them. He didn’t say anything at first, studying the odd look on detectives face. Running his thumb under the quivering bottom lip John’s own brow furrowed in confusion.

“Sherlock?” There were very few things that could cause the stony man to show his emotions, so when he did it honestly frightened John. His own voice faltered slightly with worry. “What’s wrong?”

The hand that had been running along the quivering lip slid up to cup his cheek, running his thumb along his cheek bone softly. He offered the detective a soft, supportive smile.

One long fingered hand reached up and covered John's as Sherlock leaned into his touch. He was silent for a long time, both of them standing under the hot spray. 

"Nothing of consequence." His voice was normal again as he composed himself, "Don't worry about it." He offered the doctor a smile of his own, reassuring this time, and stopped any further questions by pulling him in for a chaste but not unfeeling kiss.

He could easily delete this guilt he was feeling, he wouldn’t have to hide it, but it felt like a betrayal to all John had done for him to do so. Instead, he continued to snog the man in his arms, the kiss quickly becoming more passionate as he forced his guilt to the back of his mind.

Sherlock succeeded in changing the topic, John’s worry quickly fading as he was pressed back into the wall, warm water running over both of them. A bit of reason remained as he pulled off of the kiss softly, giving the pronounced cupids bow a soft peck before pulling away completely. The friction between their bodies was reigniting his arousal, and all they needed was Mycroft to show up while they were shagging in the shower.

“Alright then, don’t tell me.” John knew something was wrong, but there was a reason he didn’t push Sherlock to talk about emotions. He took what the detective offered him, he wasn’t about to push him away by expecting too much. “But I’m afraid if you try and have me here in the shower I may not be capable of going horseback riding. Raincheck yeah?”

He placed another soft kiss against the detectives lips before pushing off the wall and grabbing the bodywash that the shower had been so thoughtfully stocked with before their arrival.

Sherlock chuckled and sniped the body wash from the doctor, proceeding to wash his back for him in appreciation for not pushing further. The rest of their shower was uneventful save for Sherlock letting John wash his curly hair at the other's request. 

They were just finished dressing when a butler, not Mycroft, retrieved them for breakfast. When they entered the dining hall, Madame Holmes was already dressed in typical English equestrian gear, and Greg sat chatting with her happily. Mycroft was nowhere to be seen.

"I have some things to attend to, enjoy your breakfast." Sherlock said softly, planting a kiss on top of John's head and slipping away before he could protest.

“Things?” John repeated incredulously, but the detective was already rounding the corner. John shook his head before dropping into the seat next to Madame Holmes, across from Lestrade. 

“Good morning.” He offered cheerfully to the both of them before pouring himself a cup of tea from the kettle between them. “Any idea where he’s run off to now?” He was looking at Greg now, considering Mycroft was also missing he hoped the DI would have some clue. 

"No idea." Greg said, shaking his head and chuckling.

"Something impossibly romantic." The regal woman chimed in. Her tone was teasing, but there was a familiar glint of mischief in her eye that both boys had obviously inherited from her. Greg, however didn't catch it.

"Mycroft? Romantic? Is that even possible?" His sigh was somewhere just short of a laugh as he ran his hand through his hair. Then something struck him and he stopped, "Well..." His face turned about two shades of red, "Maybe he can be, but I honestly can't see that in Sherlock. Then again I'm not dating him..." He waved the thought away and tucked into his food.

The comment struck a chord with John though and he had to catch himself from spatting ‘Yeah you’re not’ back at the DI. His face dropped, obviously taken aback and hurt by Greg’s words. Turning his focus to his plate John pushed around the eggs with his fork, sipping at his tea. It was bad enough having to defend Sherlock’s actions to himself, he didn’t need to do it with Greg and the Holmes’s mother as well. Thankfully Madame Holmes quickly pushed through.

"Mycroft tells me he will be meeting your children tomorrow after you return home. How splendid!" The woman's voice lowered softly as she leaned towards the DI, "I've always wanted grandchildren." 

Greg blushed furiously and mumbled a thank you before returning to his food feeling mortified, but the woman’s comments pulled John from his reverie. Turning his attention to the embarrassed man across from him John attempted to hide the earlier disappointment.

“So you talked to him then?” John was honestly pleased for them, so it wasn’t too hard to show his enthusiasm, “I told you it’d be fine.”

"Yeah, he was surprisingly open to the idea..." Greg rubbed the back of his head, "I don't know why I was so worried."

Just then the Holmes brothers rounded the corner. Mycroft looked rather smug, but Sherlock seemed irritated. However, when he sat down next to John, the detective seemed to almost know what had transpired. He pressed a soft kiss to the blonde's temple before nicking a piece of toast off his plate and nibbling on the corner.

Sherlock didn't know exactly what had happened, but the doctors body language suggested he'd been gearing up to defend someone, probably the detective himself. He found it easier if he told himself he was slipping into a role like he had on so many cases before. Because it was easy if he was doing what John needed, he could push away the thoughts of what he himself wanted, and just play a part until, well, until things changed.

John deserved to be happy after all the detective had put him through, and if he made him happy by acting like a total fool, he'd do it. Within reason.

His left hand found John's under the table and gave it a soft squeeze as he took another, larger bite of toast, knowing that his eating would be awarded by one of John's brilliant smiles.

John watched Sherlock warily, trying to discern what he’d been doing, but as the detective took yet another bite of the stolen toast he relaxed, gripping the hand in his. He was surprised by the affectionate gestures, but the idea that they weren’t genuine didn’t even cross his mind as he smiled at the detective before turning back to the rest of the table. Of course John still wanted to know what he and Mycroft had been up to, but he’d ask later.

A bit more relaxed now, with Sherlock’s reassuring gestures, John actually ate a bit of the eggs he’d been pushing around his plate. 

Mycroft took his seat next to Greg quickly, obviously still pleased with whatever victory he had won from his brother. “Worried?” he started, having only caught the tail end of the previous conversation, but then his eyebrows shot up and it became evident that he had deduced the rest of the conversation. “Ah, yes. I don’t know why you were worried either.” 

Pouring his own tea Mycroft looked to his mother knowingly. “Everything is taken care of. When will we be off?”

"As soon as everyone is finished with breakfast. I had Winston draw up some riding clothes, boys I've had yours brought down to the stables as well." She smiled, "I'll meet you down there soon." With that, she left them to their breakfast.

Before long they were making their way down to the stables where their clothes were given to them to change. John and Lestrade were given a pair of riding pants and boots, however Mycroft and Sherlock’s outfits were complete with riding jackets. Sherlock pulled his on and grimaced before buttoning it.

"It's a little tight." He complained, then turned a playful glare on the doctor, "I blame you for adding this extra weight, always insistent on eating..." 

“Oh yes.” John teased, “Such a shame I insist you take care of your body.” 

Shaking his head John finished lacing the new boots. The new clothes had obviously been bought for each of the men, John wondered how exactly Madame Holmes had acquired the their sizes. But he supposed she really was like her sons, a little too observant at times. 

John couldn’t help but think the entire scene was like something out of someone elses life. The large building had eight pristine stables, with eight horses of varying coats. When Madame Holmes reappeared shortly after they had finished changing, just in time too considering Mycroft had begun teasing Sherlock over the straining buttons of his vest, she introduced each man to their individual horses. Apparently she had decided beforehand who would ride each horse, she seemed insistent upon it. Leaving the Sherlock and Mycroft to help Greg and John with their horses she moved along to her own white stallion, assisted by Winston.

The horse brought to Mycroft was a pale palomino mare who threw her mane impatiently as she was haltered, waiting on the riders to mount. She seemed to look down her nose at them and huffed snobbishly. The stallion Mycroft was helping Lestrade to mount was a tall dapple gray horse. The beast stood tall and proud as the DI placed his foot in the stirrup. He pulled himself up easily, and Sherlock wondered if his brother had brought him horseback riding before. However, as Mycroft led the two into the small paddock to wait, the stallion’s first step was a little wobbly. He recovered nicely though. 

The grullo mare they brought for John lowered her head and seemed to be looking him right in the eye. Sherlock had to commend the doctor for looking right back without fear of the large creature. When she deemed him worthy, she nuzzled her nose against his cheek, her lips nipping at his jumper and snuffling in approval. 

Sherlock moved up behind the doctor as he instructed him on how to best get into the seat. “Both hands on the saddle horn. No, cup it in your hands like this.” he turned them so that they were on the far side of the hardened leather, facing them, “Yes very good, now, left foot in the stirrup, and pull up, I’ll help you if you get stuck.”

John grumbled softly about being capable as Sherlock put a guiding hand in the small of his back. It took John a moment to secure his first foot, his height not doing him any favors, before pushing off the ground and throwing his other leg over. It only took two tries to get him fully up on the saddle. Leaning forward he ran a hand along the mare’s neck, smiling as he patted her fondly, before looking back to Sherlock. 

“The last time I rode a horse I was probably ten, and I’m fairly certain it was on a lead.” He laughed as he took hold of the reins in front of him lightly. “I’m assuming you’ve done this since you were old enough to walk?”

“Before.” he said lightly with a chuckle as his own jet black stallion was brought forward. John’s mare immediately nickered and tried to get closer to the stallion, but a hand from Sherlock stilled her. “Woah there Nightingale... woah.” He cooed gently to the mare. She tossed her head and let out an annoyed snort before taking a few steps towards the paddock. She didn’t move any farther though. Just turned to watch Sherlock and the black stallion. The detective watched, a little surprised as the stable hand came up to pet the stud’s mane. 

“I haven’t seen anything like it Master Holmes.” He said watching the mare carefully, “Ol’ Bastion here has been in a right snit ever since you quit coming out, but one day, about four or five months ago, after ‘Gale got outta heat, we turned ‘em out in the same pasture, and they’ve been glued to each other ever since. I’ve never seen Bastion so gentle with another beast or person ‘ceptin you sir.” Sherlock patted his stallion on the neck and swung up into the saddle easily. 

“Is that so?” he asked. The horse’s ears flicked back as if listening, “Have you found yourself someone who actually tolerates you?” The beast beneath him tossed his head with mild agitation. Sherlock reached down to pat him apologetically as he looked up to find both the mare and John watching them. His eyes grew wide for a moment before he could bring himself to look away. “You’re going soft.” he muttered to himself before pulling on the rains and making a clicking sound with his tongue to urge the wild-eyed stallion towards the paddock, John’s mare falling into step easily, close enough that the two riders could talk, but wouldn’t bump into each other.

Mycroft and Lestrade were not quite as quick to mount their horses, but once they had, the group followed Madame Holmes out into the grounds. Madame Holmes led them through the countryside, leaving the couples a bit of their own space. There was a stark difference between the pairs though. 

Mycroft’s horse kept wandering off, distracted by plants it seemed to be interested in eating. She seemed to have a mind of her own, oblivious to the fact that her rider had other plans. The two seemed more than happy, Lestrade still elated over Mycroft's willingness to meet his kids, but the obstinate mare seemed determined to make her own path through the brush.

John and Sherlock’s horses on the other hand were inseparable. The two were able to chat comfortably, their feet barely inches from each other. Every so often the black Stallion Sherlock had been riding would gently nudge John’s mare with his nose, nickering softly. Eventually their conversation drifted back to the horses.

“I heard, when you were talking to the man back at the stables.. You used to come out here? So... he’s yours?” John nodded towards the stallion. Even before the fake suicide John hadn’t heard of Sherlock visiting his mother, it seemed that even after all this time there was still so much he didn’t know about the elusive man. 

“If I had a particularly difficult problem I’d come out here and brush Bastion. There was something about the repetitive motion that helped me think. Mother more often than not didn’t know I was here.” he brushed his fingers through the long mane of his horse and sighed. “I missed him. There were many times I could have used his company. Or that of a few others really, but...” he stopped, his throat tightening against the words he’d been about to say. 

“In any case, I’m sure he’s glad to have me back. From what mother told me, he wouldn’t let anyone get near him enough to do more than feed him until the knots in his mane started catching too many brambles.” He returned his gaze to John as their horses walked at a brisque, but pleasant pace behind his mother, Mycroft and Greg, well more Greg than Mycroft, making a racket behind them.

“He’s a downright stubborn horse, but he was my only friend in my university years and well beyond that until I met you. He’s getting on in age, about fourteen now give or take.” Sherlock let his eyes fall closed as he relaxed into the familiar sway of the beast beneath him, “If this is something you enjoy we can come visit mother more often, I’m sure she’d be glad to have us.”

“I wouldn’t mind it.” John replied softly, unabashedly watching Sherlock now that his eyes had fallen closed. He seemed utterly at peace like this, and that alone was enough to make John want to come back. They rode in comfortable silence for a bit longer before John spoke again after yet another aggravated groan from Greg caught his attention.

“Those two don’t seem to be enjoying themselves quite as much,” John glanced back, trying to hold back the giggle bubbling up inside of him at the sight of Mycroft having to duck beneath branches as the oblivious mare walked under a few shorter trees. “I’m guessing Mycroft didn’t spend as much time out here?”

“It’s Mycroft.” Sherlock said as if it were obvious, turning in his saddle to get a look at the goings on behind him, “Does he really look like he ever spent much time out of doors?” He laughed at his own joke, and Bastion stepped to the side, brushing his leg against John’s. He wasn’t sure why, but the simple brush felt different than normal. He turned back to John just as they breached the edge of the vegetation. 

“Ah, I was wondering when she was going to lead us here. Mummy absolutely adores the game of polo. Mycroft and I played a few times when we were younger. We get a little.... competitive.” he said. Ahead, the elder woman was getting everything set up along with Winston, who had come via a small cart with the supplies. 

John and Lestrade, of course, had never played polo, but it didn’t take long to explain the rules. Madame Holmes was quick to instruct both men, walking them through the game before they split off into teams. Madame Holmes, John and Sherlock were on one team, while Winston obliged to join Mycroft and Lestrade. It was probably good that Madame Holmes had taken to helping John and Lestrade, as her sons were quickly making the calm match into an utter scene. 

Both of the Holmes had started the game insisting they only played because of their mother, but by the halfway point they were muttering insults under their breath when their mother was out of earshot. They seemed to be making up for how amiable they had been the previous night. The majority of the game was played by a rather overzealous Sherlock and Mycroft, who seemed unaware that they were playing a team game.

At the end of the match Mycroft managed to pull their team ahead, just beating Sherlock. Sharing a wary glance with Greg, John got off his mare and made his way over to the DI under the pretenses of congratulating him, while passing off the tenner he had just lost. Then he made his way back to a probably fuming Sherlock. He was thankful they were all eating lunch separately. John wasn’t sure the two could last near each other much longer. 

“Well that was... interesting. Your mother seemed to enjoy herself.” John rocked on his feet sheepishly before looking up at the detective, unsure of his current mood. “So.. lunch?”

The detective growled softly, the reminder of his brother besting him twice in one day was not a pleasant one. “Bring your horse over here, but don’t get on her.” he said gruffly, his voice betraying his terrible mood. When the doctor complied, he took her reigns from the other’s hand, wrapping them around his own saddle horn before reaching a hand down to John. 

“Come on then,” he kicked his foot out of the stirrup so John would have a place to step up, “I want you to ro ride with me. I’m sure Nightingale wouldn’t mind the reprieve. Our lunch spot isn’t far now.”

John hesitated before taking the offered hand and jumping up in front of Sherlock. It took a bit more coordination, as the stallion was taller than the mare John had been riding, but the detective pulled him up easily. John slid back in the saddle, pressing him comfortably against Sherlock’s chest. 

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him to grasp the reins and start the stallion into motion. The mare just pressed up against his side and was content to walk beside them, pressing into the black beast’s side every now and then. Sherlock’s hands stayed on the reins as they bid his mother goodbye, but once they had entered the brush, and were far enough away, his right hand subtly left the reins to rest on John’s stomach. Pressing lightly, he urged John’s hips backwards as his head lowered, pressing into the doctor’s shoulder.

The events of the day had been difficult for him, And his brother besting him wasn’t even the worst part of it. Sherlock felt stretched thin, and he supposed all the crazy emotional things he’d been working through, along with his lack of sleep the past few nights were finally wearing on him. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, his voice still grated from irritation, but less so than before.

Leaning his head against the side of Sherlock’s John sighed softly, relaxing into the detectives hands before he answered, “I did. Did you? Other than the game of course.” 

One of John’s hands left the saddle to lay over the one pressing on his abdomen, ghosting over the pale skin before lightly lacing their fingers. The only issue with the day, that John could see, was the outcome of the game, he had no idea the internal turmoil that had been wreaking havoc on the detective.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally. They stayed like that, John wrapped up in Sherlock’s arms until they broke through the trees once more, into a clearing with a beautiful lake. Everything was starting to turn green, and the flowers were beginning to open, so the vegetation was an explosion of color. Sherlock guided them over beneath a Weeping Willow that grew near the lake, it’s branches bowing so that the lowest ones dipped in the water creating a natural privacy barrier. The detective held open the branches so that they and the horses could pass through with ease.

There at the base of the tree was a plush blanket, a large cloth lined basket, and a small ice chest waiting for them. Sherlock smiled and helped John off of Bastion before guiding them over behind where they’d be sitting, tying them up to a branch. He removed their saddles since they might be a while, and immediately the horses sidled up to each other. Bastion looked bored, but he accepted the affection from the mare without protest.

Sherlock chuckled and made his way back to John removing his riding coat as he went. The air was warm, and he had exerted himself earlier with polo, so he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt as well, letting the breeze cool his heated skin. When he was close Sherlock dumped his riding coat and moved up behind John to wrapping both arms around his waist. Letting his head fall forward he pressed his nose and lips to the top of the doctor’s head. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this part all day.” he said simply.


	11. Iris

John leaned into Sherlock easily as he gazed around at the intimate set up. He hadn’t quite believed Madame Holmes when she said that they had been doing something romantic, but now he was realizing he might have been too quick to assume. A small shiver ran through the doctor’s body as Sherlock’s breath blew through his short hair.

“It’s lovely Sherlock.” John managed breathlessly as he wrapped his arms over Sherlocks, he was slightly taken aback by the gesture. 

“Is this what you were doing this morning?” he murmured softly, running his hands along the pale arms circling his waist.

"Yes, although Mycroft beat me to the gazebo I had wanted to take you to, but this was my second choice by only a fraction." Down by the water, the hanging branches of the tree separated naturally, giving them a breathtaking view of the lake and all the foliage reflected there.

His arms tightened around John's waist for a moment before sliding away and pulling John by the hand towards the blanket. "We've got food for a light lunch, mostly fruit and cheese and a little bread. Mycroft insisted I bring wine. I've never seen you drink it, so I asked Winston to decide on some." The detective huffed, still not out of his foul mood.

He reclined on the soft blanket, but instead of letting John sit beside him, he pulled him down, between his spread legs so that they were chest to chest.

"I seem to be in a very..." His face pinched at the word, "cuddly mood today..." He looked down into John's eyes and pursed his lips in obvious irritation at the word John used for the times when he simply desired physical contact.

John lips quirked to the side in a completely different expression as he attempted not to show too much enjoyment in the detectives irritation. He didn't waste a moment before leaning down to snog the bitter look from his face. His lips started soft and slow moving against Sherlock’s, but soon John was sucking on the detectives bottom lip and nipping at it softly.

"Cuddly is fine by me." John breathed against Sherlock’s bruised lips as he pulled away.

"John, you seem to think that your consent matters. I would continue to desire physical contact whether you were fine with it or not." This was true, he would still desire the contact, however they both knew that if John even hinted at not wanting contact, the detective would withdraw and pout for a spell.

His eyes were a little glazed, but still sharp, his breath fanning over John's in short bursts, "However, I must admit, that kiss was a little exhilarating." He pressed his hips upwards into the smaller man's body so he could feel the arousal he'd stirred into being.

"Give me another, then we must eat before our food gets too hot." The fingers of his right hand were splayed out over John’s back, the other propped them both up with a slim elbow.

"So demanding," John muttered playfully, carding through Sherlock’s curls with one hand before bringing their lips together again with a little more force than the before. Bracing one hand against the ground John leaned in, intensifying the kiss. Just as he felt the passion building between them he pulled away, placing one last chaste kiss against Sherlock’s cupids bow before sliding out of his lap to sit beside him on the blanket. The detective groaned at the loss of John’s warm and willing body, but he moved to get up none the less. 

“Wouldn’t want to let lunch go to waste.” John teased as he folded one leg underneath himself. Looking out at the edge of the lake John added offhandedly. “And I do like wine.”

Sherlock was pulling out the food, packed neatly in their own containers and two glasses and the wine out of the cooler. The crystal had frost on it, and there were two bottles of wine in the cooler. He shook his head. Winston was a sly old chap. 

Bringing the food to John, he didn’t bother with the plates, but did pour them both a glass of wine. He handed John’s over before pulling the tops off of the containers. The cheese was cubed and the fruit had all been sliced or plucked to so that they would be easy finger foods. The bread was in slices in a basket, wrapped in a fresh white towel. However, when the doctor moved to pick up a grape, he swatted his hand away.

“Oi!” John started, mildly bothered by being denied, but Sherlock was quick to explain.

“Let me.” he said softly, his long fingers picking up the grape John had been going for and lifting it to his lips. When he opened his mouth obediently, Sherlock took a moment to run the cool wet fruit along his lower lip before pressing it inside along with the first third of his finger.

John’s mouth closed around the digit, sucking softly as his tongue ran across the pad of his finger. The corner of his lips pulled into a smile as he pulled off of Sherlock’s finger with a soft pop. Finishing the fruit in his mouth John regarded Sherlock carefully, as if he was trying to figure out something particularly difficult.

“You’ve been acting different.” There was a hint of curiosity in his tone as he cocked his head to the side, all his attention on the detective. 

“Have I?” He asked, picking up a strawberry, “How so?” But he lifted the strawberry to the older man’s lips before he could answer. “I suppose I should be asking if that’s a good or a bad thing as well.” His lips quirked upwards in a smile. 

Rolling his eyes in mock exasperation John opened his mouth, biting into the strawberry in Sherlock’s hand. He swallowed it quickly, licking up the juice that had been left on his lower lip, as he nodded.

“No, it’s definitely a good thing.” John stopped for a moment, ostensibly searching for the words to explain what he meant. “Just wondering where the change came from is all.” 

Reaching for one of the strawberries John held it up for the detective, just touching his bottom lip with the fruit. 

Sherlock chose not to respond to that. Instead, he leaned down, wrapping his lips around the strawberry until they brushed the other’s fingertips. Closing his eyes, he bit down and pulled away. His lips were coated with juice and he chewed gently, not wanting to disrupt the slightly erotic show he knew he was putting on. Once the fruit had been swallowed, his own tongue came out to lick his lips and gazed hungrily down at the doctor. He wouldn’t allow himself to deviate from the plan this time, it would be John who would have to take the initiative here. 

The hunger in Sherlock’s eyes was reflected in John’s entire demeanor as he watched the detective. He licked his own lips out of habit before breaking their gaze, a blush quickly spreading across his features

Sherlock discarded the half eaten strawberry in favor of lifting a small cube of Cheddar to the doctor’s lips. This time there was no teasing, at least, not until he was withdrawing his finger from that hot mouth. His fingers traced over the shape of John’s lips, barely a whisper against his skin. 

John’s eyes fluttered closed at the soft touch and let out a gentle sigh. Lifting his chin, the doctors lips chased the fingers, mouthing a soft kiss against them before opening his eyes. 

“You’re trying to distract me.” he said softly, his husky tone making it obvious that it was in fact working.

"You can't call it trying if it's successful." He lifted a grape to his own lips and pressed it inside, drawing his lips over the digit in a sinfully slow motion. However the grape hadn't gone far, and he leaned down, lips a gentle pressure against the doctor's before his tongue pressed them open. The fruit was pushed in almost immediately and he pulled back not wanting to give John too much incentive.

He did lean down and just breathe in the scent of his throat as the smaller man chewed. "Don't lie, you enjoy it when I'm stubborn anyway."

A shiver visibly ran through John, and when he looked back to Sherlock his eyes were dark with lust. Splaying one hand out over the detectives chest he gently pushed him back so the detective was sprawled out on the blanket. Then he moved the fruit and cheese within reach as he straddled the younger man’s hips, pinning him to the ground. 

“I think,” John started, grabbing a grape and pressing against Sherlock’s lower lip, “You just like what happens when you’re stubborn.”

When Sherlock complied opening his mouth enough for John to slip the fruit in he let his index finger linger just inside the detectives mouth. The curly headed man, being how he was, let his tongue slip between his finger and thumb, pulling the fruit into his mouth before stowing it in his cheek. The muscle then moved back to swirl around the tip of the digit before he sucked lightly at it. Finally, after a moment of teasing, he pulled back, letting it fall from his mouth. 

“Then we are at an impasse doctor, because both seem to be true.” He pulled his arms back so that he was leaning back on his elbows, fully content to let the older man take charge. He wasn’t going to let him get anything easily, but for now the comfortable weight settling over his hips was gloriously accepted.

John ran his slick finger along Sherlock’s lip, a mischievous look spreading across his features. He stayed silent for a few moments as his fingers began working at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt slowly. John’s blue eyes didn’t leave Sherlock’s until he’d undone all but the last two buttons, at which point his hands worked back up the pale chest, pushing the shirt open as he went. His eyes raked over the detective greedily as he leaned down, so they were chest to chest, his lips brushing the shell of Sherlock’s ear. 

“How long do you think I have before they come looking for us?” John’s voice was thick with promise. Moving down the detectives neck he sucked at his pulse point to emphasise his intentions. 

“It’s about twelve o’clock and we won’t have dinner until around five o’clock. So five hours. Is that enough time for your maniacal plan doctor?” He bit back a moan at the lips on his neck, and tilted his head to the side giving the blonde more room. He hissed softly as John’ moved against his growing hardness. 

He was torn now, with his elbows underneath him he was higher up but he couldn’t move his hands, however if he were lowered to the ground, John would have much more of an advantage over him. He instead nuzzled his way back to John’s ear and pressed a wet kiss beneath the lobe.

John purposefully rolled his hips against Sherlock, loving the gasp it pulled from him. Pushing Sherlock back, so he was flat against the ground, he languidly moved the detectives hands so he could grasp them both above his head. Pinning both hands against the ground with one of his own. 

“Five hours...” John’s voice trailed off as he breathed down the side of the arched neckline, “I wonder,” He paused again has he reached the protruded collarbone, nipping at the skin softly, “How many times I could deny you before you’d be begging for it.”

Running his tongue along the small mark he’d left as he slowly rubbed their clothed erections against each other again. John let out a soft growl. His own arousal was rapidly grown, but the idea of having Sherlock as desperate as he had been the night before was more than enough incentive.

“Payback's hell.” 

Sherlock groaned and arched his body up into John’s with a slow roll. So the doctor wanted to get a little payback for the night before? Fine by him. He was fairly certain that his resolve was stronger. He shifted his arms above him, and like the last time, found them fairly tightly restrained by John’s powerful hand. 

“Do you think five hours is enough time?” His tone was teasing as he let his head fall back, stretching his pale neck out for John. The detective was still an arrogant sod, even when he was pinned down and being rutted against. 

John paused at the detective jaw to Press open-mouthed kisses there. He chuckled darkly, letting the sound vibrate along Sherlock’s skin before he answered.

“If it’s not, perhaps I’ll just have to make you wait until we get home. Would you like that?” John had shifted so he was rolling his hips into Sherlock’s, his mouth breathing hotly against the shell of his ear once again. “For me to leave you gagging for it for hours till we get back to London? Till you were begging for it?” 

He really wouldn’t, John wouldn’t be able to wait that long himself, but he knew the idea would spark Sherlock’s arousal like nothing else. Of course five hours would be more than enough time, so John was in no rush. Besides, they both knew his resolve was more likely to falter before Sherlock’s. 

An involuntary moan ripped itself from Sherlock's chest at John's words. He couldn't remember ever hearing something so deliciously sinful falling from the blonde's lips. His breathing increased and his hips started a slow roll up into the smaller man's.

"You wouldn't." His voice was deep with lust and his pupils were blown wide, "besides would that be any way to thank me for such a magnificent outing?" He knew John could feel the aching hardness of him, and that he wouldn't believe he wouldn't thoroughly enjoy that for one minute.

“Hmmm.” John hummed sucking at the detectives earlobe softly before placing a soft nip and answering. “I suppose not... Let’s hope it doesn’t resort to that then.”

Working a hand between them John undid the last few shirt buttons, teasing at the sensitive skin between his navel and pants line before he pushed himself up so they were nose to nose. They were no longer touching except for where John had his hands pinned into the top of the blanket, and where his knees were pressed against his sides. 

“I’m going to need both my hands. You had your warning last time. You can move them to the side if it’s more comfortable, but if you can’t manage to keep your hands to yourself I will stop, and not just for a few seconds. I’ll leave you here, maybe pour myself a glass of wine. I’ll watch you squirm until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Understand?” John’s voice was low and gravelly and he brushed their noses together, still holding Sherlock’s wrists tightly until he had some sort of confirmation from the man beneath him 

The detective didn't trust his voice to answer, so he merely nodded instead, twisting his hands into the blanket to give him something to hold on to. He couldn't help but think the doctor was glorious in his idea for punishment, and he wondered for a moment which he would like more, the incessant teasing or the deprivation. 

His hips thrust up slightly, looking for a little friction but found none. He looked up into John's eyes and felt his knees go a little weak at the predatorial gaze he found. His heartbeat quickened and his lids fell down to hood his gaze. Yes, this was going to be a wonderful afternoon.

"Good" John whispered, ducking down to steal a rough kiss as he let go of Sherlocks wrists before pulling back completely. He was seated on the thin hips below him again, the hard bulge in Sherlocks trousers pleasantly pressed against him. 

He wasted no time in shedding his jumper, but when it came to the dark blue button up underneath he took his time. Slowly toying with each button before slipping them open, his eyes raking over Sherlock hungrily as his mind worked through all the things he wanted to do. Tossing his shirt with the jumper beside them John considered stripping Sherlock of his shirt completely, but quickly decided against it. The sharp contrast of the dark shirt to his pale skin was beautiful, and the way it was thrown open around him just made the detective look more disheveled. 

Leaning back down, sighing softly at the skin to skin contact, John guided Sherlocks chin to the side with one hand and held it there while his other hand pulled the collar of his shirt out of the way. There was already a soft mark on his collarbone, nothing that would last long, but a mark all the same. Placing his lips against the soft point where neck met shoulder John ran his tongue along the tender point, feeling Sherlock shiver with the sudden heat of his mouth against his skin, before clasping down. Sucking and biting at the soft fold of skin until he was sure there would be a lovely mark. A soft cry tumbled from the brunette’s lips at the intensity of the sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, and he cursed under his breath knowing that with his pale skin, that mark would be there for more than just a few days.

Satisfied with his work John slowly began working his way up to Sherlock’s lips. His lips and breath softly brushing against the detectives skin, not giving him the full contact he’d given before. When John finally reached the bruised lips he continued to tease Sherlock. Kissing and sucking at the detectives bottom lip, but quickly pulling away when he began seeking out his own. The younger man let out a small noise of frustration when his attempt at stealing a kiss was denied. 

John chuckled darkly before leaving, sliding down a bit to scoop his tongue into the small divot between the sharp collarbones. He smiled against Sherlock’s skin as he traveled along his chest to one semi-erect nipple, breathing heavily against it before closing his lips around the nub. Teasing it with his tongue and careful teeth, John mimicked the motion on the other side of Sherlock’s chest, rolling the nub between his fingers slowly.

In a way John had taken Sherlock’s attitude as a challenge, so he was taking his time. Teasing him at a deliciously slow pace. He planned to have the detective writhing beneath him in time.

The detective bit his lower lip hard once it had been abandoned by the doctor and felt his breathing pick up. Beneath the skilled lips and fingers, his chest was heaving deep breaths of the cool afternoon air, the scent from the lake swirling around in his mind making everything seem fuzzy. “No wonder you got the nickname Three-Continents-Watson...” he said breathlessly. His fingers twisted tightly against the blanket, arching his back slightly, causing his chest to swell. 

He looked down his exposed chest to see John’s nose pressed against his body as his lips and tongue worked over his skin. He moaned softly at the sight and had to toss his head back to keep from getting too worked up. A wicked thought popped into his mind. He could easily retreat into his mind palace, if it was a challenge John wanted, Sherlock could definitely give it to him, but the thought of missing any part of this, no matter how small had the detective binning the thought immediately.

John hummed in response, pinching the hard nubs simultaneously before working his way down Sherlock’s chest, placing gentle open mouthed kisses along the scars as he went. When he’d traced each mark tenderly, he moved to Sherlock’s navel worrying the taut skin above it between his teeth lightly. 

Pressing light kisses along his hip bones John began working at the detectives riding pants, urging his hips up so he could pull his trousers and pants down until they were stuck at his ankles. Sitting back on his heels John removed Sherlock’s shoes, followed by his trousers and pants, leaving Sherlock with just his shirt pooled around his shoulders. The detective’s eyes were dark as he watched, his voice silent. The cool afternoon air caressed his skin causing him to shiver and gooseflesh to rise on his skin.

It was almost tantalizingly taboo, having Sherlock spread out beneath him in broad daylight, well just about anyways. He rocked back on his heels for a moment, enjoying the view, before he began rearranging the thin limbs. Spreading his feet out and pushing them in so his knees were bent, feet planted into the ground, leaving Sherlock completely open. 

Starting at Sherlock’s knees he slowly began running his hands down towards his pelvis, pressing into the inside of Sherlock’s thighs lightly with his finger tips. His fingers were quickly followed by his lips, working his way down towards the detectives cock. John couldn’t help but love teasing Sherlock like this, as he avoided the twitching member altogether. He rolled his balls in one hand, dipping his mouth down just long enough to suck at the slightly looser skin, before he left his pelvis again. Raking his fingers up the detectives chest, as he leaned down to tease at the pale skin over his hips with small nips and flicks of his tongue. 

Sherlock’s erection bobbed slightly, whether from his own motions or the detectives he wasn’t sure, but he felt it against his cheek as he sucked another mark just below the others pantline, where only he would see it. Moving over his cock, careful to only let his breath graze over it, John flashed a mischievous smile at Sherlock. He planned on have him begging for everything today.

“John.” His voice came out much needier than he had intended, and he strained not to thrust up against his lips. Hot breath ghosted over his member and the plea was almost on his lips before he bit his lower lip to stop it. His mind was reeling and his toes curled into the blanket. His arms were starting to go numb when he finally let go and stretched his arms out to the sides twisting his fingers tightly into the flannel again.

When another gust of hot air hit the precum pooling on his belly from the slit at the head, he gasped, his entire body shivering. The plea was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and god it felt good to finally say it, “John.... Please.”

John smiled wickedly and pulled back a bit when he heard the soft plea leave the detectives lips. Languidly he pressed his tongue to the base of the throbbing member and slowly he licked up his shaft, pulling away just before his tongue reached the sensitive glans. Leaning back he blew air softly against the slick trail he’d left, then looked back to Sherlock a hint of triumph behind his eyes as he tutted softly.

Sherlock’s hips followed John’s tongue upwards, trying to get that pleasant friction for longer. But, when the cool air moved over him, a low whine slipped from him.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to get what you want Sherlock,” he practically purred, his head leaning against the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, two fingers caressing the sensitive skin just behind his balls. 

“John please!” his head was fuzzy with arousal, and he would deny every moment of this later, but all he needed was John’s sinful lips around him. “Please... touch me..” his voice was strained, the added effort of keeping his hands to himself was affecting his ability to think. His fingers were tightening and clenching as he died under the skillful but maddening tongue and lips.

“All you had to do was ask,”John stated simply, as though he was unbothered by the man keening desperately beneath him, but he felt himself become unimaginably harder. Sherlock’s desperate cries were almost too much and John’s own arousal was straining against his trousers. It was worth it to see the normally arrogant man writhing beneath him before he’d even gotten started.

Steading Sherlock with one hand John licked the dribbles of precum away from the head, making quite a show of it for the detective. He slowly drew his tongue along the slit, letting his eyes fall closed as the salty taste spread across his tongue. 

Taking in just the head John swirled his tongue around for a moment, massaging the sensitive glans until he felt Sherlock begin to relax into the sensation. When he did John quickly bobbed down, taking almost all of Sherlock in at once, before returning to suck on the tip torturously.

When the doctor took most of Sherlock’s length into his mouth with one swift motion, all of the detective’s muscles tensed and his hands found his own curls for solace. They helped distract him from reaching down to push down on the blonde head between his thighs when lips returned just to the head. 

Then the suction started. Oh god if John wasn’t a fast learner. His hips rolled forward into the tight heat, and he almost blanched, worried John might take this as touching and leave him, but when the doctor didn’t move away, he relaxed into the pleasure once more.

After a few moments John repeated the motion, keeping the sucking pressure up as he dipped down. This time swallowing around him and letting out a soft moan. John kept this up, keeping the pace slow enough that he knew Sherlock wouldn’t be able to get off on it but keeping enough pressure to be tantalizing. One hand splayed across Sherlock’s abdomen, keeping him from thrusting up into John’s mouth again, while the other held the throbbing cock in his mouth steady, slowly stroking the slicked member while he worked at the glans. 

The younger man’s hands twisted in the blanket above his head once more and he turned his head biting at his arm. John’s skills were quickly unraveling him and he felt his skin tightening all over as the pleasure was washing over him. He hadn’t been told to express when he was close. Perhaps if he was careful to monitor his breathing patterns and responses, he could hide how close he was. Would John punish him? He couldn’t deny him his orgasm then, what would he do instead? His lust addled mind could only come up with spankings for a child, and that thought along with a twist of John’s lips and hand made him groan loudly and his hips attempted to buck up against the pleasure. 

“John!” Came his frantic exclamation. He wasn’t sure what he was saying by it, whether asking for more or telling him to back off. Both seemed to be equally pleasurable variables in his mind. 

The doctor took it as a warning, and he pulled off quickly, letting Sherlock’s member fall from his lips where it bobbed against the taut stomach, glistening. John didn’t want to end things too quickly. His hands moved to Sherlock’s hips, rubbing soothing circles in the twitching muscles. He hadn’t meant to get the poor sod that close, but he loved how disheveled he looked. The pink flush was spreading across his chest and neck and he had his mouth still pressed into his arm to muffle the cries.

The detective’s hips stuttered forward and all of his muscles tensed, unwilling to let go of the orgasm that was just within his grasp. His eyes were clamped shut and He had to fight to keep his hands away from the part of him begging for just a little more contact.

“Relax.” John’s hands moved up to massage his thighs, keeping a safe distance from the more sensitive areas, “I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”

His lips brushed along the inside of Sherlock’s knee, smiling against the tender skin. After a moment he thought of another idea. Moving to away he grabbed one of the strawberries, and returned to the detectives side, tracing Sherlock’s flushed lips sensually with the fruit

With John’s voice in his ears, he tried to relax, willing himself back from the edge. Instead he focused on John’s fingers over his skin, soothing, relaxing and then the fruit was on his lips. With a small whine, he opened his mouth obediently, taking a small bite of the fruit, unsure exactly what John was doing. His eyes fluttered open as his lips stretched over the fruit, and he raised an eyebrow slightly in question.

John just smiled as he pulled the half-eaten strawberry away, before leaning over Sherlock to brush their lips together. It started slow and gentle, but in no time the kiss was deepened as he stole the sweet flavor still on the detectives lips and tongue. It had been more for him than Sherlock in all honesty, but it was a delicious sensation. 

When the sweet taste of the strawberry was gone John pulled away. He looked Sherlock over once, appraisingly, before pulling away completely and standing up. John glanced around their private area of the grounds quickly, before toeing off his own boots, followed by his trousers and pants so he was stark naked in front of the detectives gaze. A whole new thrill ran through him as he carefully piled his clothes together.

Returning to slot himself between the detectives knees John began rubbing at the tense muscles again. His hands working their way down the inside of his thighs methodically. As his fingers slowly came close to their target John began murmuring against the skin where his head lay gently. 

“God, you’re gorgeous like this Sherlock... So responsive... Begging to be touched... You like it though don’t you?” His fingertips skirted back around, tracing his hips and thighs, avoiding the sensitive area practically twitching in anticipation.

The detective moaned softly at those words. Something about the way John talked to him when they did this sent shivers down his spine. Captain John Watson, Sherlock decided. His breath hitched when the blunt fingertips came close to the epicenter of his need, and exhaled dejectedly when they skittered away again. 

Sherlock was torn between answering John’s question and taking it as rhetorical, however, a smirk spread across his face as he decided how best to respond to the doctor’s question. He sat up on his elbows once more so that he could watch his blogger, and when their eyes met, he let his lids fall down to hood his eyes.

“Oh god yes.” He whispered, his voice a little breathless.

John drew his bottom lip between his teeth, trying not to outwardly moan at the sight alone. He knew Sherlock was doing it on purpose, but it didn’t make the sight any less tantalizing. He hesitated for only a moment before sliding up along the thin body so their members were lined up together between their stomachs. Grabbing both of them with one hand John gasped as he began tugging at a quicker pace than before. Sherlock’s cock was still slick from his own mouth, which only made the motions more fluid. Burying his face in the detectives neck John gasped, before managing to bite out his next question.

“Do you want to come like this?” His voice was breathy and deep, barely managing to keep control over his own desires.

Sherlock cried out at the sudden heat and pressure where there had been none. His head fell back and to the side as John breathed against his neck.The sensation of their arousals sliding together with the gentle rolling of his own hips and the pumping of the doctor’s fist made it hard to breathe. 

“You’ve just been,” He paused to take a breath, “Ordering me around, and now you ask me something like that?” He groaned long and loud and his fingers flexed, desperately wanting to grab the man and roll him over. “God if you stop again...” his breaths were actually becoming vocal now with every stroke of John’s fist.

John almost slowed at the smart words, the devilish smile playing across his features again, but the detective’s next words quickly changed his mind. Sherlock’s head tipped forward so that his temple was resting on John’s shoulder, his eyes watching John’s hand as he fisted their cocks together, “Do what you want but god just please don’t stop.” 

Sherlock was openly and unabashedly begging for John to keep going, and that was enough for him to stop the incessant teasing. Shifting his weight slightly, propping himself up to steal a sloppy kiss, he began moving the hand beneath them faster. John had to press his forehead to Sherlock’s shoulder as he felt tension coiling in his own gut. 

Biting back the imminent orgasm John shifted his hand so most of the pressure was on Sherlock, rolling his thumb over top of the glans with each stroke as he muttered incoherent words of encouragement. He could feel the telltale pulse in his hand, telling him Sherlock was right there. Leaning in to growl in detectives ear he gripped them both tightly, bringing himself to the edge with Sherlock.

“Come.” The single worded command held more venom and power than John even thought was possible.

That word was all it took and Sherlock was crying out loudly, his hips arching into John’s touch obscenely as he came, making a mess over both of their stomachs. His muscles spasmed and he shuddered, collapsing back against the blanket, sweat pouring from his skin. 

John was right behind Sherlock, moaning into the crook of his neck as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. His body shuddered slightly, letting out a soft cry of pleasure, before he relaxed against the detective, ignoring the way their chests stuck together from their mingled sweat and cum. 

Sherlock’s chest was heaving as he tried to gain back some of the air he wasn’t able to breathe while John had been teasing him. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides, he didn’t think he’d be able to actually move for a while. It was a good thing they’d started out with five hours to kill.

Pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s temple John rolled to the side to grab a few napkins from the lunch set up. He quickly wiped himself down and then Sherlock, who looked as though he might need the help, before curling back against the detectives side, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder. He smiled gently as he waited for Sherlock to wind down from his post coital high.

The detective felt his body being cleaned, but couldn’t bring himself to move yet. However, when the doctor curled into his side, one arm mustered up the strength to wrap around him. Leaning up he placed a small kiss to his temple, then flopped back down. 

“That was... interesting.” He said finally, “Perhaps I should take you on secluded picnics more often....” he stifled a small yawn, and finally turned, rolling them both on their sides so that he could wrap his body fully around the smaller man. Both arms circled his torso as one leg was thrown over and twisted between the other man’s. He nuzzled into John’s throat and spoke softly. “It was actually less boring to be home than I had anticipated. I do attribute that fact highly to your presence however.”

John smiled, resting his face in the unruly curls as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock tightly. He knew, that in the detectives own weird way, this was an insane compliment. Everything bored Sherlock, but not John. Not only that but his mere presence made other things more interesting to him. The comment alone made John feel elated. He pressed a kiss to the top of the head tucked neatly against his throat, before resting his cheek against the soft curls again. 

“I’m glad I could help,” John quipped, just a little bit smug, but then he was rolling the detective away again, pressing gently against his chest. “But don’t expect public sex to become a regular thing. We could actually get caught you know.” John flushed slightly at the thought, reaching for both their clothes, throwing Sherlocks pants and trousers on top of him playfully.

“As much as I’d love to lie around naked with you, we are outside.” John began setting his clothes right, most of which had ended up inside out in his haste, before quickly pulling on his jeans and shouldering on the button up he’d been wearing under his jumper, leaving the shirt open in the front.

Still buzzing with post coital bliss John rummaged around until he found the wine. The glasses had long since lost their chill, but the wine was still pleasantly cool so John didn’t really mind. 

“Which wine did you want?” he called over his shoulder, inspecting the bottles. No doubt they were both expensive, and John had very limited experience with wines so he figured he’d leave the choice up to him. 

“More of the white is fine with me,” he said softly. He was already dressed again, and had his hands pressed together in his thinking pose.

John scooped up the bottle of white wine and the two glasses before falling gracefully next to Sherlock, one leg tucked beneath him, the other stretched out. The cork had already been popped, so John poured two glasses, before setting the bottle back down against the side of the cooler and holding out a glass to Sherlock. 

His lips pulled to the side, slightly worried by the sudden change in demeanour. The detective did often give John whiplash with his mood swings, but it still caused him to fret slightly. 

“You alright Sherlock?”

“Yes fine, just thinking.” But the detective didn’t elaborate. He hadn’t retreated to his mind palace for a few days, and his relaxed state had caused him to become super aware of how muddled his mind had become, “Deleting.” he finally clarified.

He accepted the cold glass of wine, but set it down next to him and resumed his pose. Mycroft’s winning smug, deleted. The look on John’s face the night before after an excellent shag, saved in personal files. He smirked softly and reached for his wine.

“Ahh,” John relaxed at the comment. He didn’t quite understand how Sherlock could completely delete pieces of information, but he knew better than to disturb the process. Slowly sipping at the wine he waited for the detective to come back reality.

….

The rest of the evening was pleasant, but uneventful. Sherlock hadn’t been able to resist teasing Mycroft about the success of his having to take his second choice of lunch locations. He didn’t elaborate, but he did rub his and John’s good afternoon in the older Holmes’ face. Apparently he and Greg had not had as much luck. The Gazebo had been soaked from the rainfall over the past few days, and they’d eventually had to relocate inside. 

After dinner Madame Holmes saw the men off. Pleasantly full, and slightly tired from the day, the ride home was particularly calm. Sherlock had laid down with his head in John’s lap, rubbing his temples and further deleting unnecessary files. The good doctor had dozed off before they made it home, and the detective had watched him unabashedly feeling his throat catch at how much younger he looked while he was sleeping yet again. 

Finally, he nudged John as they pulled up in front of 221B. He slipped around to get their luggage as John opened the door, and once they were upstairs, he closed the door behind them, sat their luggage by the couch, and with the promise he’d help John take care of it in the morning, he tucked them both in bed for some much needed sleep.


	12. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: READ THIS PLEASE! This is your warning. There are elements of dub-con in this chapter. It is consensual, just not in the way it should be really. No one is permanently hurt, physically or mentally, but it is a very rough scene.**

John woke to his phone chirping incessantly, sun just beginning to creep into the room through the window. Rolling over to see his mothers name flashing across the screen he quickly denied the call and set the phone back on the nightstand. He knew what she wanted, and he wanted no part of it. Turning back to Sherlock he curled up against him. Years of military training prevented him from falling back asleep even though they didn’t have any reason to be up early. Instead he closed his eyes, running through the crazy events of the last couple days, a smile playing on his lips as his fingers languidly skirted across the detectives chest.

“Must you wake me when you can’t go back to sleep on your own?” Although Sherlock didn’t always sleep when he should, when he was woken prematurely he could be quite grumpy.

However, this morning, his surly demeanor stemmed from witnessing the denial of his mother’s phone call. John had just been on about Sherlock seeing his own mother, yet he was denying a call from his own. He made a grumpy sound, but wrapped his arm around John anyway, pulling him tight into his chest, and forcing the other man to lay there as he pretended to go back to sleep, snuggling deep into the tanned throat. 

Not seeing anything odd with Sherlock’s attitude John pulled him close, contented to lay wrapped up together until the detective was ready to get up.

It wasn’t the only call John had refused to answer from his mother. Over the next few days Sherlock caught John ignoring multiple texts and calls. Brushing them away, saying he’d get around to calling her back later. It wasn’t until four days after their visit to the Holmes Estate that John answered his mother's call.

When the phone buzzed next to him, he had given up keeping the ringer on as the calls had become almost constant, John let out a defeated sigh. Sherlock had run out to the morgue, apparently certain Molly had spare bits and was holding out on him, so pushing out of his chair to pace about the room John answered the phone.

The call followed the same pattern it always did. She chastised him for not calling more and prattled on about Mrs. Soandso, someone he was supposed to have known from his childhood, before turning the attention on John. She had this impossible need to fix John with every and any suitable woman she met and of course, this call was no different.

Her hairstylist’s daughter was visiting from out of town, lovely woman, just a few years younger than him. He was just in the middle of explaining away his mother, his back to the door as he gazed out the window, when Sherlock walked in.

“No.. No I’m no-.. Mum I’m not seeing anyone, I’m just busy.. Yes I’m sure she’s lovely bu-.. We have to work Saturday, okay Mum... Yeah tell her maybe next time she’s in town.. Yes I know that I’m just not really loo-” His words caught in his throat as he turned to see Sherlock standing in the room, the look on his face saying he’d heard enough of the conversation. “looking..”John managed to stammer out, averting his eyes from the detective. “Listen mum someones at the door. I’ll talk to you later. Yeah, Love you too. Ta.”

He rolled the phone in his hand nervously before looking back up at Sherlock. 

The detective didn’t say a word, just turned on his heel, the bag of body parts swinging on his wrist. It was obvious he was upset by what he’d heard, but he would never say anything on his own. He did however make a point to arrange the body parts all throughout the fridge so that there was no way to ignore them. 

He knew John would want to talk about what he’d just heard, but he would refuse. He needed to work through the overwhelming need to vomit that was coursing through his stomach. Moving back to the sofa, he spread out his long limbs and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

They had not defined their relationship, but he had been under the impression that John had been viewing this just like any other. All the signs were there, yet he’d told his mother he wasn’t seeing anyone. What Sherlock couldn’t fathom more than anything else was why his chest felt so tight. 

“Sherlock?” John started cautiously as he moved toward the sofa. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, stopping just a few steps short of where Sherlock was sprawled out across the sofa. “That...” he faltered, trying to come up with some sort of explanation that wouldn’t make things worse, of course Sherlock knew that had been his mum, and he would know everything about the conversation. That was just Sherlock.

“Listen I was just saying those things to get her to let up a bit, I didn’t mean it.” His voice was small, much less sure than the doctor normally was when he confronted Sherlock. For once it was John that had done something a bit not good. 

Sherlock held up one hand signalling for John to stop talking. He was silent for a long moment, not really wishing to respond, instead tried to quell the nausea roiling in his belly. When he was sure he could contain himself, he sat up once more, his eyes boring up coldly into the wary blue ones above him. 

“Don’t feel that you need to explain yourself John, it was I who requested that we don’t put a label on what has been going on between us. Therefore your statement to your mother was quite accurate.” His voice was calm and even, a stark contrast to the roiling in his mind and stomach, “It’s quite alright.” He tried to keep his tone from belying how not alright he was feeling. 

The detective couldn’t sit still anymore and moved to stand. He would pace if he had to , but he couldn’t sit still with his thoughts any longer. He wondered idly as he pushed past John lightly if he could delete the incident without consequence. He would have to weigh the pros and cons.

John stared after Sherlock incredulously as he began to move about the room idly. There was a bit of irritation bubbling inside him at the detectives words, and he was fairly certain he would have been happier had Sherlock just gotten pissed like a normal person. 

“I was under the impression we were... I don’t know, something..” His hands rose and fell, unsure of how to get through to Sherlock. “I just didn’t want to deal with my mother Sherlock, and that has nothing to do with not having a bloody label.”

He glared back at Sherlock defianty. John knew he’d been the one to botch things up this time, but that little bit of knowledge did nothing to quell his irritation with just how daft Sherlock could be. 

The detective whirled around to face the blonde. Glaring, feet set apart, arms crossed over chest, lips pursed together and to the left not the right. Sherlock’s brows raised and his eyes narrowed deadly sharp. John was angry. What right did he have to be angry?

“Regardless of whether we are something or not, I have been nothing but honest. We just returned from my mother’s estate not four days ago, and against my better judgement. When you insisted that I go I acquiesced.” He did not mention the unconventional nature of their argument before, he didn’t think it would further his cause.

“I expressed explicit interest in not wishing to see my mother at all, but I did take you to meet her properly. Now I find that you are denying your mother the right you struggled so hard to obtain for mine, and on top of it you are lying to her. It is obvious that you are using the fact that you do not want to deal with her nagging as an excuse, and it is also obvious that you are angry with me, but I can not fathom why. It is you John who are being the hypocrite here. Furthermore, if you were under the impression that you and I were, ‘I don’t know something’ as you so ineloquently put it, then why are you so quick to deny it?” Towards the end of his little monologue he had gotten angrier, and his words had come faster and sharper. The need to strike out and make the doctor feel like he did had come unbidden and he pushed it back now, not quite sure where it had come from. 

He turned his back when he found that he could no longer look into John’s eyes without wanting to strike the man. That would solve no one’s problem. “Do make up your mind John.” The words were sharp as he moved to the window.

Jaw clenched, John breathed slowly, trying to calm himself before he answered Sherlock. The detectives biting words might as well have been a blow. His family was nothing like the Holmes, he knew Sherlock would have figured that out by now. Mind racing far too quickly for his liking John tried to counter Sherlock.

“Going to see your mother had nothing to do with what we were or weren’t, you were gone for three years Sherlock. The poor woman thought you were dead! It’s not the bloody same.” John’s voice rose so he was just beginning to yell now. He felt like grabbing Sherlock, turning him to face him and forcing him to listen to reason, but he didn’t. John stood his ground, fists clenched at his side as he desperately stumbled over his words. 

“I lied to my mother, but I’m sure half of London knows we’re together, you don’t see me denying it to any of them. Not my fault she hasn’t noticed.” When Sherlock still didn’t deign him with a response John spat out, particularly bitterly, “Coming out to her wasn’t worth the trouble it’d cause.”

Somewhere in the back of John’s mind he knew that was the turning point of this argument, and he didn’t want to hear the fall out. Slightly panicked John turned away, grabbing his coat as he headed straight for the door. 

“I’m going out.” 

He didn’t stop to look back at Sherlock, or to properly say goodbye. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the street that he stopped, placing a frustrated kick at an aluminum bin outside one of the shops as he cursed under his breath. John spun on the spot, ignoring the odd glances he was getting from passersby, torn between leaving and going home. 

Finally resolved to work out his anger away from Sherlock he pulled out his phone, sending off a text to Mike and Greg as he headed for the pub.

….

Sherlock didn’t move from his place by the window all throughout John’s tirade, however when the door slammed, his words were echoing through the detective’s mind. Wasn’t worth the trouble. John wasn’t like Sherlock in the respect that 90% of things weren’t worth it, and the words were not taken lightly. He stood there for a vast amount of time that could have been anywhere from ten minutes to a few hours. 

Finally, he decided that his mind might calm down with a shower. However, after thirty minutes with no luck under the shower and the water started to run cold, he resigned to play his violin. 

When he came out of the bathroom, a breeze from Mrs. Hudson stepping out swept up the stairs and the door to John’s room squeaked as it fell open slightly. Ever since things had started between them, John had not returned there except to bring his clothes down to Sherlock’s room. Perhaps a clue would lie inside as to why John was being so insufferable.

He hadn’t been in the room really since he’d been back, and even the one time he had been, he hadn’t really looked around as he’d been practically shoved out as soon as he’d made it in. Now, long fingers pressed against the wood, feeling it move beneath his touch. It was dark, but Sherlock could still see quite clearly. 

The single bed was made with military precision, and the room looked empty save for it and a desk. The desk had been cleared, and when he rummaged around in the drawers he found nothing but the typical stationary things inside. Finding nothing of interest, he turned his full attention to the only thing on the wall, It was half hidden by the door when it was open but as he pushed it closed, he raised his fingertips to his lips and slowly sank to the floor, his eyes never leaving the cork board tacked to the wall.

...

John leaned heavily against Greg’s shoulder as they rode through London in the back of the cabbie. After a few too many drinks the doctor had quickly unloaded on the two men. Mike stayed quiet, refilling their drinks when needed, but Greg listened, speaking up at all the right moments. The only other person that understood the Holmes like John did. 

It had taken Greg and Mike a bit longer than he would have liked to meet him at the pub, so sitting at the bar John began drinking by himself. Shamelessly wallowing in his predicament. He almost didn’t notice the woman that slid onto the barstool next to him, almost. Stealing a sideways glance John saw that she was in her mid to late twenties, far too young for him, brunette, good looking, and obviously staring. When she caught his eyes glancing at her she smiled seductively. John quickly looked away, he’d noticed her yes, but he was in no way interested in starting any conversation with the girl.

After a few quiet moments she made a move towards him. Sliding one hand along his thigh quickly as she slipped off of the stool so she was standing just to his side and behind him, her breath cascading down his exposed neck. 

“You look lonely love.” Her voice was delicate, but in no way innocent, and a sickly sweet perfume engulfed John’s senses as she swooped closer. A small hand, nothing like the strong hands he was used to, trailed along the inside of his leg quickly until her hand was rubbing against the not quite hard bulge in his trousers. “I could give you some company.”

John was a bit taken aback by the sudden proposition, so it took him a moment to pull away. Almost falling off his own barstool John pulled away from the girl, his heart rate ridiculously elevated. 

“I.. No..” He stammered before finding his composure. “I’m fine, just waiting for some friends.” He gave her a pointed glance that said he was not interested before turning away.

Greg and Mike still weren’t due for a half hour or so, and he didn’t want to sit back down next to the girl, so John made his way to the back of the pub, slipping into the restroom. Splashing cool water on his face he tried to erase the event that had just transpired. Already slightly buzzed from the first two drinks he’d downed John’s mind began playing with him cruelly. 

With his eyes closed John felt the caress of the woman’s breath on his neck, alcohol fuelled arousal stirring within him. Locking himself in the smaller stall John let his mind wander, the girls high sweet tones quickly replaced by the baritone one he’d grown so attached to. The small frame and breasts cast aside in favor of imagining Sherlock’s nimble fingers working across his skin. Taking his throbbing member in his hand John easily gave into his drunken desires, any thoughts of the girl quickly leaving his mind.

Half an hour later found John at one of the many booths at the pub, sitting with Greg and Mike, the entire incident a distant memory. Instead his focus was on why he’d left the flat in the first place. He explained how his mother had been trying to set him up with women since he’d returned from Afghanistan, apparently worried that between Harry and him she would never see grandchildren. She’d stopped when his depression set back in, but since Sherlock had been back, and John’s attitude had improved, she’d started up again. As the night progressed John’s tirade became less and less coherent. When it turned into him muttering defeatedly into a half drunk pint Greg finally stepped in. 

“I’m not hiding him. Stupid sod.” John tried to take another drink from the pint, but found the glass a bit too heavy for his liking. Setting it back down on the tabletop he shook his head and kept rattling on, just loud enough that Greg could catch his words. Mike had taken his leave half hour earlier with a sympathetic glance at John. John had barely noticed. “I just don’t want my mum to ruin everything... She always ruins things.. Poor Harry..”

His voice trailed off a bit, a nostalgic look in his eyes. Finally looking back to Greg, as if he just noticed he was there he swallowed hard against the rising lump in his throat. “I love him....” Then, as if he’d realized what he’d just admitted, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, leaning into the table. 

“God how am I going to fix this?”

That had been the last thing Lestrade needed to hear. Tugging John to his feet he began guiding him out of the pub. “You’re going to go home and talk to him.”

Lestrade didn’t say anything again until the cab was pulling up outside of 221b. Nudging John up and out of the cab he put one hand on his shoulder, “Not to throw your advice back at you, but you need to tell him how you feel John.”

“I can’t.” John said, swaying slightly. He knew what Lestrade was talking about, the thought he’d been pushing out of his mind for quite some time now. The thought alone sobered him a bit, “He doesn’t... I’d rather not know for sure anyways, less painful.” 

He stepped away from Greg, staring up at 221b, the building seemed to loom over him, like it knew just how scared he was of facing Sherlock. John chuckled to himself a little at the thought, he really was drunk.

“Thanks Greg.. I’ll just..” John motioned towards the door as he rummaged through his pockets for his keys.

Greg sighed and leaned halfway out of the cab. “John, I think you’d be surprised. For all the world, they act like they don’t have feelings, but it just takes them a little time to show it. I’ve said it before, I have the more competent Holmes, but they’re more alike than you would think... Just... Don’t wait until it’s too late alright mate?” Greg made a gesture and waited until John was safely inside before nodding to the cabbie on home. 

Once inside John leaned back against the door, more worried about how he’d find Sherlock, or if he’d even still be home, then when and if he should tell the man that he loved him. Stumbling up the steps to the landing John attempted, unsuccessfully, to keep the drunken stagger out of his gait. He was just about to head for the sitting room when he saw light pouring out of his old room, the door was cracked open.

His body was on alert all at once. Slowly he made his way up the second flight of stairs, his own anxiety as to what he would find helping to clear the haze from his mind a little, but he still leaned heavily on the rail. At the top he pushed the door open to find Sherlock sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at the one thing John had managed to keep hidden since his return. 

“You saved every newspaper clipping that had to do with my death or our cases before that.” He said, his eyes scanning each one in turn. “Every criminal whose sentence was reduced because of the implications of my character. Every supposed sighting. That one was me...” he said pointing to a photo on the top left., “That one is obviously not...” he pointed to one somewhere lower down. 

“Was it your desire to keep the idea of me alive that compelled you to keep all of this, or did it simply help you feel like more of a victim?” He turned to look at John then and his brows knit together. His eyes flickered over John’s body taking in everything, and the dislike of what he found was evident on his face.

“You smell like a woman, and you’ve been drinking... decide that there wasn’t something between us after all?” His words were sudden and sharp. The time apart hadn’t eased his temper at all.

John’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, his addled mind still processing the fact that Sherlock had found the one thing that showed how desperately John had been searching for any little piece of the detective during his absence. Finally realizing what Sherlock was saying John shook his head desperately.

“No. Sherlock.” he stumbled, surprised the detective had managed to smell the woman’s perfume from across the room, especially through the alcohol. “That’s not what happened.” His words were slow, trying to seem as competent as possible. 

Sherlock was on his feet in seconds, and was drawing close to John, his head inclined towards the man. He took a deep breath and when their eyes met once again they were cold and sharp. Grabbing John’s lapels he pulled him just inside the room so he could push him up against the wall. 

“You smell like semen,” Sherlock said, his hands gripping tight, the deduction doing something to make him feel more secure. “But... it’s only her perfume on you, not her bodily fluids... Which means you ejaculated on your own. Did she get you off? No, her smell is only on your clothes... She excited and left you to your own devices. Tell me, you must have gone to the bathroom to bring yourself to orgasm...Were you thinking of her when you had your wank in the toilet?” 

His voice was deep and dangerous, and his face was close to John’s. His fists were still balled in the front of his jacket as his upper lip twitched slightly in irritation.

John’s breath hitched, surprised by the dangerous gleam in Sherlock’s eye as he was pressed against the wall, but he loved it. The reason John had followed Sherlock in the first place all those years ago, this was it. It was intoxicating, being pulled apart bit by bit under those knowing eyes. If Sherlock got off on the cases, than John got off on the brilliance and mastery of the deductions. 

Not bothering to fight against the hands twisted in the fabric of his coat John shook his head. His own blown pupils meeting Sherlock’s.

The detective wasn’t sure why John’s sudden contrite attitude was making him so mad, but rage coursed through his veins none the less. Strong hands pulled him away from the wall and shoved him backwards, towards the small bed, “Answer me John.” he growled.

Pushing him again, the doctor stumbled back onto the bed. When he didn’t respond Sherlock kneeled over him, grabbed his lapels again, shaking the doctor, “Answer me dammit!” His heart was beating in his throat and for the moment nothing seemed more important than an answer to his question.

The alcohol still coursing through his veins kept John pleasantly calm as his hands came to rest over Sherlock’s, still gripping his lapels tightly. His brow furrowed slightly, was Sherlock jealous? Scared?

Again John shook his head, but this time he spoke, his words slow, but no longer slurred. “I didn’t think about her Sherlock, just you.” There was no point in going into more detail, Sherlock had deduced the entire situation perfectly, it was always that one detail he’d get caught up on. There was always something. 

His chest rose and fell heavily, giving way to the adrenaline coursing through his veins thanks to Sherlock’s new demeanor. 

The anger seemed to drain from him then. Brows knit together in a puzzled expression, and his lips pursed.Long fingers slipped from the material, and balled into fists at his side as he spoke.

“An attractive female, probably just your type, rubbing all over you and you went into the bathroom and wanked at the thought of me? It’s always one thing or another isn’t it?” He gave a small chuckle that sounded suspiciously close to a sob of relief for someone like Sherlock. He pressed the heel of his hand into his left eye socket, his head shaking in disbelief. The action caused his leg to shift where he had placed it between John’s own sprawled limbs to shake him, and now he felt an impossible heat pressing against his thigh.

“John. You’re aroused right now.” he said matter of factly, “You have an erection... I was about to punch you, this is hardly the time...” His tone was snarky, however when he shifted again another wave of the woman’s perfume washed over them both and he swore he would have to leave his own behind just to get it to go away.

“And now?” His voice was thick, deeper than it had been before now that the detectives weight was pressing against his growing arousal. “Still feel like punching me?” 

He wanted to apologize. To tell Sherlock everything he had told Greg and Mike, but he couldn’t. The gripping fear of denial left him resorting to circling his hips against the detectives leg. This bit they were good at. Sex was easy, emotions were not. 

Sherlock slipped into that aspect of their relationship easily. The overwhelming need to possess and show ownership was crashing over him, and he really didn’t want to examine why. Sex was simple for him, but the reasons behind it really weren’’t.

“No,” His voice was a predatory purr, “What I want is to erase her from you.” He leaned down, his nose tracing the left side of his throat and then the right. He made a noise and sat back on his heels. 

“She came up to you on your right side from behind, her perfume is mostly on the back of your shoulder and throat...” He stepped off the bed and yanked John to his feet roughly. Once he had gotten to his feet, the detective stepped behind him and wrapped a hand around his right side, bending slightly so that his long fingers gripped low on his hip. , his nose and lips traveling up the right side of his neck. 

“She propositioned you, and she tried to make it seem like a good idea... She touched you.” The last was said dangerously low as his hand slipped up his thigh to grope John’s hastily thickening erection, “And you were already slightly hard weren’t you?”

John moaned unabashedly, pressing into the pressure of the detectives sure hand. He didn’t want to answer the question, and he knew Sherlock didn’t need him to. It was heady, walking back through the scene with the mystery woman, but this time it really was Sherlock’s body pressing against his back. Holding him steadfast with just his intoxicating voice. 

The world spun as he closed his eyes, but John just leaned into the firm body behind him, arching his neck where he felt Sherlock’s breath. His head fell back to Sherlock’s chest, leaving his neck open and vulnerable to the detective. 

“But you told her no didn’t you?” he said, his hand massaged the bulge it cupped. He sucked a light mark to the doctor’s neck before continuing with his onslaught of the blonde’s alcohol ridden mind. 

“Are you going to tell me no?” his left arm wrapped around the other’s chest, pulling him tight back so that he could feel Sherlock’s cock grinding into his back. His right hand left the buldge only long enough to flick his belt open and undo his trousers before slipping inside his pants and gripping his shaft. John shook his head. “No you won’t. Why is that John?” His teeth nibbled over the shell of his ear.

“What is it that I give you that no one else can?” Sherlock growled as he rocked his hips against the curve of John’s back. His question however, was one that had been repeating in his mind for sometime now. He both did and didn’t want an answer, so he pressed on to cover up the moment of vulnerability, “What is it that filled your mind as you touched yourself in that bathroom stall?”

John gasped and, as his breath returned, moaned at Sherlock’s touch, his mind too slow to answer promptly. The overwhelming sensations, from Sherlock’s hand in his pants and the unmistakable hardness pressing into his back, only made his world spin more. 

Because I love you.

The words were there on the tip of his tongue, but even drunk and desperate John knew better than to say it, so instead he focused on the last question. What had filled his mind as he’d got off in the dark stall. His hands, his body, the way his voice sounded like utter sex at times like this. 

“God Sherlock,” John breathed heavily, one hand reaching around to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck. “Just...” He couldn’t find a way to vocalize any of it, so finally, with soft keening sound he managed to breath, “Everything.”

Sherlock shoved the jeans down over his hips and let them pool around his ankles before turning, and shoving him to bend over the unused bed, his hands running up under his shirt and jumper, pushing it up before his nails scratched pleasantly down John’s back. He adjusted John’s arms so that they were bent beneath his chest as his voice wrapped around the doctor in a blanket of silky seduction. The blonde’s hips were still up in the air, and Sherlock’s body was heavy, not allowing John to go anywhere.

“Everything? You thought of my hands, all over your body? My lips on your cock? I see the way you stare at them and palm at yourself when you think I’m not looking. Or were you thinking about me being deep inside of you? Fucking you until you cry out?” His fingers lightly brushed against the pucker that was bared open to him, “That’s what you’re thinking about right now aren’t you? Me fucking you into this mattress?” He pressed his hips forward to let John feel the impossible hardness behind his pajama bottoms.

There was no way for John to tell if the thought had come into his mind of it’s own accord, or if it was Sherlock’s perfect deduction that left him desperately aching for just that. It was hard not to. He could feel Sherlock’s member pressing against him and John couldn’t help but roll back into the detective, making his desires obvious. 

John managed to find his voice as his hand balled into the musty bedsheets. “Yes Sherlock. That’s what I want.” His words trickled off into a desperate ramble as he rolled what little he could of his hips, looking for more contact. “God.. I need that, please.” 

This was something no one else could give him. No one else could excite him like Sherlock did, and being under the detectives scrutiny was obscenely hot. To know that all of the brilliance of that mind was working to pull him apart, to figure out how and where he wanted to be touched, was enough to leave John aching for Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled back and coated a few of his fingers with saliva. He pressed one finger inside of the doctor, and just as he felt John relaxing, he pressed another finger inside of him. The detective was desperate, and he wanted to be inside of the other right now. All he could think about was that the woman at the bar had trespassed on territory that was his, and he was going to claim it back. 

While he was fingering the blonde beneath him, he wrapped the fingers of his other hand around John’s jaw, cupping just beneath his lips. “Spit.” came the deep command. When he sensed a bit of hesitation, he leaned down nipping just hard enough to bring blood to the surface of his neck. “I know you don’t have lube in here. Spit or I’m going in dry.” he growled.

The threat, however empty, was enough to make John quickly spit into the upturned hand, a blush creeping across his cheeks as he did so. He knew Sherlock was upset. They’d fought and John had left, only to come back smelling like some woman. This was not them making up, or getting over things, it was a desperate attempt to use physical intimacy to delete their argument.

Even still John moaned as the hand pulled away from his jaw, the fingers inside of him wasting no time expertly preparing him just enough. 

Sherlock slipped his fingers out of the doctor and pulled his member easily from his pajama bottoms, pushing them down just enough to free it. Using the saliva he’d obtained from John, along with a bit of his own, he slicked himself before flattening his hand on John’s lower back and pushing himself inside. It was almost painfully tight and he found a small cry ripped from his chest before he bent over the prone man beneath him. 

Thin arms slipped beneath his chest and up to grip his shoulders as he pulled out slowly then pushed back in. He gave John three thrusts to get used to it before he started in on a hectic pace, his hips snapping roughly into John. Bending down, he rested his forehead against John’s left shoulder, his voice coming in short bursts between his thrusts. 

“I’m not going to touch you. And you’re not going to touch yourself either. If you want to come you’ll have to do it with me fucking you.” He started placing just painful bites all across John’s shoulders. The need to strike out against the doctor too much to ignore. 

John whimpered in response as the detective bit him, his back arching into the body pressed against his desperate for as much contact as he could get. The alcohol made him deliciously pliant under Sherlock’s hands, moaning louder with each snap of the detectives hips. 

Desire coiled within him, but he was unsure if he would manage to come in time. Sherlock’s fast pace could only be held out so long before he would be filling him. He could hear Sherlock’s breath changing, quickening, a sure sign that his release was imminent. Wriggling against the detective he began begging in a way he never had before.

“Please touch me,” his voice was barely a whimper as he pressed his forehead into the mattress in frustration. He sounded absolutely wanton. “Fuck. Please Sherlock.”

The younger man’s fingers bit into John’s shoulders as he just took what he needed from John. He groaned low in his throat at the pleas tumbling from the doctor’s lips. They urged him closer to the edge, and he was practically panting now. 

“Beg all you want, the answer is no.” Shifting up onto his toes, he began thrusting in a new angle and felt his knees weaken as the doctor’s internal muscles clenched around him. “Do you feel it John? I’m marking you, claiming this arse for myself, and you like that.” His words were squeezed between grit teeth.

John gasped at Sherlock’s words, the new angle brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him with each stroke, reducing him to clenching his fists in the bed sheets as moans bubbled up from inside of him in response. The thrusts against his prostate and the ridiculously possessive growl in Sherlock’s voice pushed him towards the edge. It was nearly enough to block out the burning ache from the lack of proper lube. 

Sherlock’s breath was coming shorter, and his hips were beginning to stutter with every thrust. “You are mine John, and if you don’t like that you need to make up your mind now.” He leaned forward even more, his lips ghosting over the doctor’s ear. Each word was slammed home with a thrust of his hips. “While we’re together, while we’re fucking each other? I’m yours and you. Are. Mine.” The last word was a growl and he bit down on John’s neck hard enough to leave a bruise as he slammed his hips one more time, emptying himself into the body beneath him. 

The rough bite to the back of his neck had been what did John in. With Sherlock’s hips shuddering against him, he came hard. Moaning and shuddering as the orgasm ripped through him suddenly. Sherlock’s words replaying in his mind as the world went white for a moment. 

‘Mine.’

Sherlock shuddered, and collapsed onto the blonde, breathing hard. His mind was blissfully empty for a few moments, but when he came back into himself his heart skipped a few beats. Pulling out, he winced slightly and rubbed a gentle hand over the red scratches as he backed away. “Come on John, let’s get you on the bed.” his voice was soft and low. Careful. 

“I’m-” John’s voice failed him, his throat painfully dry. He took a shaky breath, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I’m fine.” It was still just barely above a whisper.

Barely dragging himself to his feet John collapsed into the bed, still turned away from Sherlock. He was spent, sore, half-drunk, and, probably the worst, uncertain of exactly what had just happened between them. Wrenching the covers from side of the bed John pulled them over himself before relaxing, leaving the next move to Sherlock. He knew he should say something, but he just couldn’t. 

“I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get a flannel.” Sherlock moved quickly to the bathroom, running warm water over a few rags in his hands. The entire way back he berated himself for being so harsh. This was why sentiment was weakness, why feeling things was not his forte. 

When he returned to the room, he moved to the bed and easily helped John remove his clothes and shoes. He was silent the entire time he cleaned up the smaller man on the bed, wiping first a warm cloth between his legs and over his stomach. Depositing the dirty rag on the floor, he took one of the clean ones and kneeled on the bed next to the doctor, quietly running the warm rag over his shoulders, finally folding one and holding it gingerly against the part of his neck Sherlock had viciously attacked. This was the closest to an apology the doctor would get from him.

“Are you still alright?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His free hand ran up and down the doctor’s spine, spidery fingers carefully attempting to massage away his own transgressions.

John had relaxed considerably, letting Sherlock move him about without so much of a sound or acknowledgement that there was anything off about the situation. The muscles of John’s back clenched and relaxed as Sherlock’s fingers skirted across the skin. 

Letting out a deep sigh John nodded, turning back towards the detective, batting away the rag being pressed to his neck. “Yeah, I’m alright Sherlock.” His voice was softer, and he tried to offer him a half smile, but it faltered after a moment. 

“I shouldn’t have left this afternoon.” It was the first acknowledgment that this had stemmed from their fight earlier in the day, “I’m sorry, about all that.”

Sherlock turned away, placing one elbow on his knee, running the thin hand through his hair, however his other hand found John’s and squeezed softly. 

“You were angry. I was angry. We needed space.” He ran his hand down his face and rested his cheek in his hand turning to look over his shoulder at the smaller man tucked into the blankets. He didn’t know how to express all the questions swirling around in his mind, so he decided not to ask them. Giving a fake half smile, he squeezed John’s hand one more time before pulling away and heading towards the door.

John pushed himself up so he was halfway sitting, the blanket pooling around his waist. He watched Sherlock for a moment, confused. Yeah they had been angry, but they’d had their space, and ridiculously hot, albeit a bit concerning, angry sex to finish it off. The last thing John wanted was for Sherlock to think he wanted him to leave.

“Oi!” John started, getting Sherlock’s attention. His voice considerably more normal “Where are you going?”

“Downstairs...” he said slowly, “I had assumed you might want some time.” Sherlock stopped at the door and turned back to see John sitting up. He didn’t see any anger on his face. He could tell that the whole ordeal had shaken him up, but he was still calling him back with his eyes. 

The detective turned and made his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “If you want me to stay... your bed is quite small, however given how we normally sleep I don’t believe it will be too much of a problem...” His eyes found John’s and he felt himself relaxing in his gaze.

“We can move downstairs if you want,” John said softly, not making a movement either way. “But I don’t want time, rather the opposite actually.”

His hand sought out Sherlock’s, returning the reassuring pressure Sherlock had been offering him moments before. John couldn’t help but fear that something had been changed between them. The detectives movements were painfully deliberate, any semblance of comfort gone.

“That okay?” he asked tentatively, as it had finally dawned on him that maybe it was Sherlock that needed space.

“Yes.” He said simply. Normally they slept naked together, but he only pulled off his robe before sliding in behind the other, and beneath the blankets,slipping one arm underneath his torso. He curled his hand back toward his chest, resting his palm over the doctor’s heartbeat. His other hand rested on John’s shoulder, thumb gently brushing over the already darkening mark in a ring on the back of his neck.

Each swoop of his thumb sent another shot of guilt through his stomach. Was this what he had bested Moriarty for? Was this what he had overcome his addiction for? So that he could lose control and do things like this to the only person who selflessly cared for him? He pressed a small chaste kiss to the mark before bowing his head to rest against the blonde’s shoulder. The hand that had previously been stroking the back of John’s neck now joined the other on his chest. 

Laying his hands over Sherlock’s John rubbed small circles over the back of his hand with his thumbs. A gentle reminder that they didn’t need to be angry any more. He could almost hear Sherlock’s thoughts as he gingerly touched the sensitive mark on the back of his neck. It didn’t take much deduction to feel how torn Sherlock was.

Overwhelmed by the need to reassure Sherlock John pulled Sherlock’s hand up to press a lingering kiss to it gently. Then he whispered, his lips brushing against the calloused skin just loud enough that he knew Sherlock would hear, the word’s he’d been purposefully avoiding for weeks now.

“I love you Sherlock.”

He said it quite plainly, and then closed his eyes, content to fall asleep. John didn’t think for a moment that he’d hear those words returned now, if ever, but surprisingly he didn’t mind. The most he hoped for at the moment was that Sherlock would stay. John would be happy to take whatever Sherlock could give, love, lust, friendship, he just needed him to stay. 

The detective’s fingers tightened on John’s skin marginally, the only signal that he’d heard him. John loved him. John loved him. The fact that it had been repeated in his mind made him wary of what that phrase was doing to him. John couldn’t love him, he wasn’t supposed to.

He worked hard to keep from altering his breathing, fought with his brain to remain calm, and placed a soft kiss to John’s shoulder. He couldn’t return the doctor’s sentiment, and for the first time in his life, Sherlock hated it. Almost reflexively he curled closer, enveloping the doctor with his lithe body.

He wasn’t sure who needed the contact more, him or John. But the longer he lay there, the more uncomfortable he got. His stomach gave a particularly unpleasant roll, and he told himself once John was asleep he’d find something to occupy him until the wee hours before John would naturally start to rouse.


	13. Kryptonite

John woke sometime in the middle of the morning to Sherlock playing his violin softly down stairs. It wasn’t all that odd for Sherlock to disappear during the night, but that fact didn’t stop John’s heart from dropping a little. Part of him wanted to chase downstairs and drag the man back to bed, just to have the reassuring comfort of his body next to him, but after the events of the previous night John wasn’t sure he should. 

Closing his eyes and pulling the blankets tighter around himself John tried to relax, eventually drifting off to the sound of the Sherlock’s playing. Oddly enough the conflicted tones seemed to reflect how both men were feeling. 

Finally around six in the morning Sherlock replaced his violin on it’s stand near the window and made his way back up the stairs silently, avoiding the squeaky spots. When he reached John’s room he saw that at some point during the night John had reached for him in his sleep. He pursed his lips before lifting the arm carefully and sliding into the embrace, his forehead pressing gently to the doctor’s. Long fingers softly caressed the wrinkles over John’s features, calculating when they had first started appearing on his face. Most had been in the last three years. Sighing he let his hand cup the man’s neck, evening out his breathing and waiting for him to wake up.

Johns eyes stayed closed, reveling in their embrace. He hadn't expected to find Sherlock in bed with him, not after their fight, after telling him he loved him, and then when John had woken during the night alone he had resigned to the fact that he'd ruined things. But here Sherlock was proving all of Johns assumptions wrong, and John couldn't have been happier for it.

 

"You're here?" The question was almost said as a statement, but left open for Sherlock to explain. 

“Of course. I watched you fall asleep, it seemed only logical to watch you wake as well.” He pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to John’s forehead. Despite his distress and confusion over John’s admission the night before, John needed him. The S scar was visible and he controlled the shudder that threatened to physically manifest. He was hit once again by the thought that the scar belonged on his own shoulder. 

“How about some tea?” he asked with a small smile as his hand slid down his arm to squeeze just over the marred flesh, “And then I think I could go for a little toast as well.”

Happy to agree to something normal John nodded, returning the chaste kiss before following Sherlock downstairs. The day was almost painfully normal, both men avoiding talking about the night before as if their lives may have depended on it, that is until later on that evening when Johns phone began ringing.

He had been working at the laptop, updating the blog and answering emails, when he looked down to see his mothers name flashing across the screen. He hesitated a moment before answering. 

Sherlock was in the kitchen bent over an experiment when the call came, but John could feel the green eyes focus on him the moment he started speaking. 

"Hello mum..." There was a long pause, his mother was explaining something

"I'm glad she got to stay longer but that doesn't ch-.... No. No mum I'm not interested okay." 

Sherlock's expression was sharp as he listened to John's conversation. John knew he was listening, so he wasn't about to hide it. If John wanted privacy he'd walk out of the room. Only Sherlock knew he'd never do it. Not after what happened last night.

Looking away from Sherlock John stared out the window, one hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His mothers tinny voice could be heard in the silence.

"I don't understand why you're being so difficult, I'm just trying to help you."  
"That's nice, really, but I don't need your help,"

"I can't believe I'm never going to have grandchi-"

"Honestly mum? You can't just set me up with women so I’ll have children!" His voice was particularly incredulous. He knew this was her motive of course but he'd never heard her say it so plainly. 

Sherlock's brows rose at that. Children. Did John want children? He almost got distracted thinking about it, but forced himself to file the thought away for further examination later. He needed to stay focused on the conversation at hand.

His experiment was at a slow point anyway, so he abandoned it to move behind John's chair, one hand running down his shoulder, then across his chest. He meant it to be comforting and supportive. John relaxed slightly at the touch.

"I'm not!" Both Watsons were growing defensive, it was becoming evident where Johns temper came from. "I just don't want you to end up alone."

"I'm not!"

The silence that followed John’s statement was deafening, his mother sitting on the line, obviously waiting for an explanation, the detective still as a statue.

"I-I'm not going to be alone, I'm fine. Really mum." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. Still denying that they were together. Typical. Nothing had changed, not really. Somehow he’d thought that after the night before things would be different. But they weren’t, and how could he really expect them to? He didn’t return John’s feelings, how could he expect John to keep abiding in the same way he had been? Then, Mrs. Watson’s voice broke through the detective’s thought process.

"Just come to dinner, it doesn't have to be anything. Give the woman a chance." 

John had no feasible reason to give his mother, not without telling her the truth. Groaning John ran his hand over his face. He knew he should tell her, but the words caught in his throat.

Upset by the thoughts his mind had been turning to, Sherlock decided to take it out on the doctor. He pressed a light kiss behind his ear, but his frustrations at John's resistance to tell his mother what was going on, especially after last night, quickly rose to the surface. His lips gently drew the lobe of the doctor's free ear into his mouth, sucking lightly and letting his tongue flutter along the sensitive skin. 

His fingers quickly unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, slipping his cool hands inside to caress the solid planes of John's chest. He accidentally brushed against one perky nipple, then his fingers returned with purpose, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub between them. 

If John insisted on keeping up this charade, who was he to make it easy for him? 

John couldn't seem to move, Sherlocks motions filling the silence on their end and when the nimble fingers teased at his nipple he couldn't help the soft breathy moan that escaped his lips. It was barely audible, but it brought John to his senses. 

"Shit Sherlock none of that." His voice was off, and he hadn't thought about the fact that his mum could hear everything. Not until she was practically screaming in his ear. 

"JOHN HAMISH WATSON WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAKING A NOISE LIKE THAT WHILE TALKING TO YOUR MOTHER?!?" Her voice was shrill on the other side of the phone and Sherlock cringed, but kept his hands down John's shirt.

"What could that god awful flatmate of yours done that...." She went silent for a full thirty seconds before the explosion came the second time. John could practically hear the moment when the cogs lined up in his mother's mind. He didn’t even realize he was gripping Sherlock’s forearm, shaking slightly.

"DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU'RE A POOFTER?!?!? IT WAS BAD ENOUGH WHEN IT WAS JUST HARRY!! NO SON OF MINE TAKES IT UP THE ARSE!!!" In the background a man's voice was trying to calm her. Sherlock pulled his hands from John's shirt but left his arms wrapped around his chest. This had been his doing, he wasn't about to let the doctor face it alone, and the brunette almost seemed contrite.

John’s hand slipped to grip Sherlock’s. This had been exactly what he was trying to avoid, and now with the thoughtless words echoing through his mind John’s anger peaked. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as his entire body tensed. 

“HOW DO YOU KNOW I DON’T GIVE IT MUM!?” The words left his mouth before John could even think, and immediately he regretted them. This wasn’t how he was supposed to tell her, but there was no going back now. Taking a shaky breath he tried to calm down. “I’m not a bloody poofter!” His voice was still harsh and bitter, but he continued to clutch Sherlock’s hand almost instinctually. 

“So you’re shagging your flatmate. Do you even know if he’s clean? Are you two partners now?” It was obvious from her tone that she was starting to tear up, and the mild cooing from her husband was doing nothing to calm her down.

“Because all I can think of is Harry and Clara, and I don’t want you to bring more unhappiness to this house. I swear to you if you bring him around here...” she trailed off as an overdramatic sob broke up across the phone line.

Behind John, Sherlock was doing his very best not to let his muscles tense. He tried to stand, he tried to get away subtly to give John an out to say whatever he needed, but the death grip on his arm wouldn’t let him go. He looked at John pleadingly. He didn’t want to hear the answer, but the doctor wasn’t looking at him he was glaring straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the detective.

“Oh God mum, of course he’s clean.” His hand left Sherlock’s to tear through his hair painfully. As soon as he was granted the freedom Sherlock pulled his arms away as fast as he would allow himself. “I’m not Harry okay? It’s...” He had no idea what he was supposed to tell her. They were together and monogamous, but didn’t have any sort of label. John groaned outwardly before continuing, “No it’s not like that.. It’s complicated..” 

Trying not to disturb John, Sherlock slunk across the sitting room to give John the privacy he needed to end his phone call. He had just pushed the door to his room open and stepped inside when he’d heard the ‘no it’s not like that’. He stopped, frozen by the sea of unbidden emotions that crashed over him. He wasn’t supposed to feel these... he’d deleted them a long time ago. He didn’t feel hurt or betrayed, or sad. Something about John had brought those back, something in the relationship had caused Sherlock to become vulnerable.

The anger had begun to leave John's voice, only to be replaced by the horrible confusion about their relationship. “You’re just making things worse.” And then, a bit more bitter he spat. “And don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to bring him to meet you anyways!”

A pain began pounding in the detective's right temple as those words sliced through him. John didn’t want him to meet his family. He was... was he ashamed of Sherlock? As he quietly closed the door and locked it, sliding down to sit with his knees propped up, hands in his thinking position against his lower lip, he tried to drown himself in logic to make himself feel better. 

Of course John was ashamed of him. There was insurmountable evidence everywhere Sherlock looked in John’s wing of his mind palace. At every turn the detective had been a complete arse, even when things started getting better. And then, the memories of the night before came flooding back and Sherlock yanked at his curls in frustration. This was not making things better. He was breathing hard and each ragged gulp of air was hurting his lungs. He just wanted this pain to stop. He had asked for all of this, and it would be his undoing. 

Still in the sitting room, John had barely noticed when Sherlock left the room. His father quickly took the phone from his sobbing mother, insisting that he’d talk sense into his wife. John thanked him, and said his goodbyes. His father had always been the more understanding of his parents. Closing the phone and resisting the urge to throw it across the room, John folded his arms over the desk, collapsing into the pocket his arms created. 

It had actually gone worse than John expected, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. After a few moments, when John was sure he had control over himself he sat up, wiping one hand down his face roughly.

“Sherlock?” He looked around the room absently, trying to remember when Sherlock had left the room. Slowly pushing himself to his feet John started for the bedroom, hoping whatever Sherlock had heard, that they were okay. He was only mildly surprised when he found the door locked.

“Sherlock.” He repeated softly, knocking on the door. “Let me in.”

Sherlock had stretched out across the floor by that time, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't even bothered to get up, just collapsed in his spot by the door. He didn't answer for a long moment. He didn't want to face the other man now, not with the raw feeling still eating at his gut. When John did not walk away after a bit of silence, Sherlock took a deep breath and let his voice sound annoyed.

"I am performing an experiment that requires total silence, your breathing is so loud I can hear it through the door. Do us all a favor and go pick up some milk? I should be done with my experiment then. I hope you know I'm having to start all over now...." He threw in the last bit, trying to sound normal.

John sunk to the ground, leaning against the door jamb. He couldn't leave, not after all of this. Quieting his breathing John listened carefully. There was no experiment, no John knew better than that, but he also knew that he had to give Sherlock some time. He had to let them both calm down, unless he wanted today to be a repeat of the previous day. Unable to walk away John leaned his head back against the wall and waited. 

Standing, Sherlock touched the lock just to make sure it was indeed latched, and flopped face down onto his bed, wanting to shut out the world and his pounding headache. Pulling a pillow over his head, he pulled it tight around his ears and delved into his mind palace to start hunting down the nigglings of emotion. He'd burn them out if he had to. That was the only way this would work. John might have said he loved Sherlock, but the detective wondered if perhaps he had taken it the wrong way. He once been told love was the most complicated of all puzzles. It was the one mystery he was not eager to solve.

When he could no longer hear John, Sherlock began slowing his breathing and let the image of his mind palace flicker to life behind his lids. The detective had deleted emotion before when he was much younger, and it had been an easy process then. There was nothing to tie each sentimental reaction to, but now each time he found a piece that didn’t belong he would tug at it only to cause an extremely sharp pain somewhere else in his mind. He didn’t understand it at first but as he navigated the catacombs of information, he found each one tied to some memory of John that he’d placed barriers around to keep from accidentally deleting it. He growled in frustration when he found every piece unable to be removed. 

…

Johns mind wandered, trying to figure out how they'd gotten to this point. Everything had been going brilliantly, but not everything lasts. It was almost infuriating, Sherlock was the one that had insisted on not solidifying their relationship, he was the reason John didn’t have an answer when people asked what they were. It may have been simple with Mycroft and Greg, but they knew Sherlock, they understood. 

There was no way to do right here. Either he declared Sherlock as his, told everyone the truth, that he loved the man irrevocably, which would no doubt drive the brooding detective away. Or he did the thing he had just done with his mother, brushed off their relationship and his feelings for Sherlock. But seen as Sherlock had just locked himself in his room, that wasn’t the right move either. 

It was inevitable, he was going to lose Sherlock, it was only a matter of time. For the first time John found himself desperately wishing they had never taken this leap. He’d rather have Sherlock as a friend, a colleague, anything really than lose him altogether. 

John didn’t move for some time, carefully listening for any change behind the door, but after a period of painful silence, in which he could only assume the detective had drifted off to his mind palace, gone to the world, he gave up. Silently, John walked away from Sherlock’s door. He made himself a cup of tea, which did nothing to calm his fears, before grabbing a novel and falling into his arm chair. 

He was at a complete impasse with Sherlock, anything he did seemed to push the man farther away, so for once he tried to follow the detectives example, disappearing inside his mind as he read. 

…

Emotions were like parasites, they dug into his brain and found what he would never give up and nested there. He felt like kicking and screaming, but instead he set to the calming task of deleting unimportant information. When that was done, he threw the pillow off of his face and stared at the ceiling feeling hopeless. He couldn’t control these new feelings that were threatening to take over his carefully constructed world. Emotionless had kept him sane through all the teasing and cruelty of being a child genius. Emotionless would have kept him sane now in this situation where he knew that John deserved so much better. Instead he was settling for Sherlock. Why? Because of some notion that he was in love? Sherlock didn’t think love was possible, at least not for him. It was just chemicals in the brain flushing one’s body with nonsensical sensations. He had never experienced it, and didn’t intend to. 

That in itself was why John needed someone else. He only thought he needed Sherlock because the detective had nurtured him to. He had taken him from nothing and shown him a new world of exciting and dangerous things. He’d shown him how to live again, and then had disappeared leaving him directionless. Returning after that had been what had sealed the deceit in John’s mind. When he had returned, so broken and needy, it had made John realize he didn’t want to live without him. The same could be said of a good friendship, but for some reason, Sherlock had found himself strangely attracted to John and in a moment of selfishness had steered that strong friendship into something strange and careless.

He was hurting John and he couldn’t stop himself. Because this would end badly. He knew it would. It was inevitable that the moment would come their one sided relationship wouldn’t be enough. When John would want Sherlock body, mind and soul, and that was not something that the detective could give him. John had so much power already in his hands with just the little bit of humanity he’d brought back to the younger man, Sherlock couldn’t imagine how painful it would be for him to have dominion over all of him. 

Closing his eyes tight he rolled on his side and curled into a ball, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead against them. He would have to end things. They would never go back to how carefree they had been in the beginning. He hadn’t wanted to start a relationship. He hadn’t wanted anything but for John to get what he wanted, what he needed, and somewhere along the path, Sherlock had started taking more than he ever intended. 

Now the thought of having a relationship didn’t seem so far fetched and it scared him. Sherlock belonged to no one. He was not his mother’s son. He was not Mycroft’s brother. He wasn’t Greg’s friend or Anderson’s enemy. He had always just been Sherlock Holmes. Other people had thrown out the word ‘my’ for him, but it was never whole hearted. For more than thirty years he had been the one no one really wanted. What right did he feel he possessed to now be John’s anything. Flatmate or Lover it was all terms so above him that he felt like it wasn’t even in reach.

Biting his lip, Sherlock refused to think on that any longer, and instead, recalled the conversation John had with his mother earlier. He had been ashamed of Sherlock. He had been ashamed of the nature of their relationship and-

His eyes snapped open. Had he really been so blind? Since the beginning of their fornication they had only copulated one way. John had been the only one to receive penetration. He had read somewhere in all his research that it was very emasculating to be a male and accept penetration. Perhaps that was why the doctor had been so ashamed to speak with his mother about them. Standing suddenly, he knew what he had to do. 

He might be planning on ending it when the time seemed right, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give John everything he would allow of himself before he did. He walked by the mirror and glanced in it as he passed. His hair was tousled from his flailing around on the bed, his skin was deathly pale, and his eyes were wide and almost frightened. He stopped and closed his eyes once more, letting his face slip into a familiar air of confidence. The one he wore every day. 

With his mask in place, he opened the door and stepped out into the sitting room. He’d known John hadn’t left, but as long as he left Sherlock alone to think things through, he couldn’t have cared less if the man had left the flat. Seeing him in his armchair reading, Sherlock moved around to the front and pulled the book from his hands. Closing it, he set it down on the end table before sliding his knees into the seat on either side of his hips so that in John’s semi relaxed position Sherlock’s hips were suspended just above the smaller man’s.

He could see the question in John’s eyes, saw it start to form on his lips, but the detective only brushed his thumbs across the weathered cheekbones, his fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. He looked down into cerulean eyes, his own pale ones sharp and demanding. Then something in them changed, a small spark lit them and he leaned down, pressing their lips together in a very simple but passionate kiss. 

After just a moment of hesitation John returned the kiss with just as much fever. His hands moved to grip the detectives thin hips, the emotional turmoil of the past few days racing through him as their lips greedily moved together. John didn’t understand what had changed, but in that moment he didn’t care. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, lowering his hips and slowly grinding them down against the man beneath him. He rolled his arse back into the smaller man’s growing erection and gave a soft moan into the other’s mouth. It wasn’t until he’d worked his fingers under the hem of Sherlock’s shirt that John pulled away.

Breathing heavily he rested his forehead against Sherlock’s, eyes pressed closed as he tried to process what had changed. 

“Sherlock..” He spoke softly, leaning back to look up at the detective, “We can’t keep doing this, we need to talk about all of this.”

They had been crossing lines and hurting each other constantly, no matter how the conversation ended they needed to talk. John licked his lips nervously, his fingers softly moving across the small of Sherlock’s back, willing Sherlock to say something.

“You’re ashamed of me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement spoken with conviction, “Or you’re ashamed that you’re the only one taking the receiving role. My intent was never to make you feel that way. It’s easily fixed though.” He gripped John’s shoulders and gave another roll of his hips. Leaning forward he let his lips brush over the doctor’s ear. “I bet you’d like to be inside of me wouldn’t you?”

John wanted to argue, he wasn’t ashamed. No that wasn’t it at all, but his body was not listening. As Sherlock rocked against him he groaned softly, his cock twitching sympathetically at the words. Sherlock hands travelled across John’s chest, down his arms, sliding the doctor’s hands to his arse. “I don’t want to talk John, I just want to give this to you. It’s what you want am I correct?”

Groaning in frustration John dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder, his hands unconsciously pulling Sherlock back down against him. “I.. I don’t not want this Sherlock, but it’s not like that either...” his voice was breathy and short, his body betraying just how aroused he was by just the thought of burying himself inside of the man. “I’m not ashamed.. Dammit it’s complicated, so much more than it needs to be.” His voice trailed off as he maneuvered his head so he could place a soft kiss to Sherlock’s neck, just below his jaw.

John stayed silent for a moment, his hands still slowly exploring the other man’s back and clothed arse tentatively. “Is this what you want?” He spoke softly, his lips still brushing against the pale neck. Sherlock had already deduced that it was what John wanted, he hadn’t even fully realized it was something he wanted until it was so plainly being thrown at him, but he’d be damned if he somehow pressured Sherlock into this. 

Sherlock felt a sigh of pleasure run up his spine as John’s hands gently explored his body. “If this is what you want, it’s what I want.” He twisted his fingers in John’s hair and pulled his head back so that he could look into the doctor’s eyes. “It would be untruthful to say I hadn’t thought of it before though.” A shiver ran through his body and he pushed closer to the smaller man. 

He wasn’t sure whether he could trust what John was saying, and for the first time since he was a child he just wanted to stop thinking. “Please John, I think I need this as much as you do.” He let his eyes slip closed and imagined many of the positions they’d tried before with their roles reversed, and an involuntary moan ripped through his chest as he nipped at the doctor’s lips.

John’s lips sought out Sherlock’s fervently, his body language clearly answering every question. Yes. Yes he wanted anything Sherlock would give him. Their kiss quickly deepened, hands pulling and gripping at clothing as their hips rolled together on their own accord. John felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, their heated touches fueling his desire. Finally he pulled away again, his voice just as breathy, but this time thick with lust.

“Bedroom?” He didn’t want to take Sherlock on the living room floor, it didn’t feel right. They’d done just about everything, everywhere, but this was different. Sherlock was granting him something intimate. He wasn’t sure if it meant the same to Sherlock as it did to him, in fact he was sure it didn’t, but he would do everything in his power to show Sherlock how much he cared, how much he loved him.

The detective nodded and extricated himself from the chair. Holding a hand out to John, he helped the smaller man to his feet, and twined his fingers between each of the other’s calloused ones. He didn’t release the hand in his own, not even when he pushed the door closed behind them. Guiding John to sit down on the edge of the bed, his knees slightly splayed, Sherlock straddled his hips and resumed his earlier position from the sitting room. 

Long hands stretched over John’s chest, popping buttons as he went. He was glad to see the two from earlier still undone. He could feel the slight tension in Johns shoulders, and suddenly there was something he needed John to understand before they continued. slipping his hands under the shirt’s material and running his hands down to massage over the doctor’s back, he leaned forward once more, his lips whispering against the underside of the blonde’s jaw. 

“I trust you John.” He was surprised at how honest those words actually were. He did trust John. He’d effectively given more to him than any other person in his life, had given him the power to destroy the detective with only a few words. But, he knew that John would never hurt him purposefully, “I trust you.”

John’s stomach fluttered as Sherlock repeated the statement. It was the closest thing to an admission the man was probably capable of, and it was more than enough for the blonde. He nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck softly, their desperate throws slowed for the moment. 

“I know.” He muttered softly, placing kisses along his neck as he repeated the words. His hands moved to Sherlock’s front, slowly working the buttons of his shirt open as he spoke, pressing his lips against the detectives chest periodically in between words. “It’s more than enough you know. To have your trust...” Pushing the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders so it pooled at his elbows he looked back into the wide eyes. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He’d already said them, but there was still an innate fear in saying them. 

Swallowing thickly he brought one hand up to brush the unruly curls from his forehead. “I love you.” His voice was more confident than he had expected, and he didn’t wait for the moment when Sherlock wouldn’t respond. Catching his mouth with his own as he urged Sherlock out of the button up shirt resting at his elbows before quickly chucking his own shirt to the floor.

Sherlock groaned softly into the kiss. John had known he wouldn’t want to respond. John knew and this was his way of saying things would be okay this way for a while. Once their shirts were removed, he wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders once more and pressed their bodies together tightly. God it felt wonderful just to touch him, but when the doctor’s hands were on him again, he felt like he was melting. 

Tearing his lips away, he let his head tilt back, exposing his throat as he swallowed thickly. His breathing had picked up and his thoughts hadn’t made his jeans any looser. “John.” he groaned, his fingers threading through the shaggy hair. The doctor would be getting a haircut soon, and idly Sherlock wondered if he could convince him to keep it just a little long.

John had already been achingly hard, but with Sherlock’s head thrown back, his neck moving elegantly as he swallowed and breathed John’s name the doctor felt his member throb painfully. Dipping forward he nipped at the enticing pulse point before working the detectives belt buckle open with one hand. Pushing Sherlock back into the bed John slowly worked open his trousers, easing his hips up to pull the last of his clothing away, dropping them into the growing pile at the side of the bed. 

Pressing an open hand to Sherlock’s abdomen he whispered, ‘stay,’ before slipping from the bed. He quickly divested himself of his own jeans and pants, and then was rummaging through the side table for lube. Once he had located the tube he set it on the edge of the nightstand, just within reach before making his way back to the bed.

He was determined to make this experience about Sherlock, not about himself as the detective had introduced it. Clambering onto the end of the bed John knelt between Sherlock’s spread feet. He paused there for a moment, his hands resting softly on either foot his fingers tracing patterns in the tops of them as he gazed at the detective with a mixture of desire and adoration. 

Slowly he moved up Sherlock’s body, his fingers massaging their way up the lean muscles, willing the detective to relax into his touch. 

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, they found John’s eyes to be full of adoration and he couldn’t look away. He was drowning in them, and he thought that just might be the best way to die. Unsure of what to do with his hands, they reached up, tracing John’s face and shoulders. Since he’d come back they’d helped each other through hard times, but through it all, the detective had always felt it was his duty to watch and protect John after putting him through hell. Now, as the blonde was massaging his legs, looking at him with such an intense expression, he could see why John liked Sherlock being a little possessive. It felt nice to be such a singular focus and Sherlock found himself bucking up into thin air in a silent plea to be touched. He knew this would just be more painful in the end, but for all it was worth, Sherlock wanted to pretend, even if it was just for a moment, that it wouldn’t end. Because he knew this memory, these feelings, he would lock away in his mind palace for the rest of his life. 

Reaching Sherlock’s hips John leaned forward, kissing him languidly, his hand cupping his cheek for a moment before moving the tube from the nightstand to the bed, just to the side of Sherlock’s hips. He kissed him again before pulling away again, his hands now starting at his shoulders, working their way back down until he was back at Sherlock’s hips. He gently guided Sherlock’s knees up, before he finally gripped the throbbing member. He moved slowly, just enough contact to calm him as John readjust himself. 

He was crouching in between Sherlock’s bent legs, cheek pressed to the inside of his thigh as he stroked Sherlock expertly. He grabbed the lube with his free hand, popping it open carefully before he stopped. 

“You ready?” He asked softly, his lips brushing the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, the sparse hair moved gently against his breath. This was new for the both of them, he didn’t want to rush anything. 

Sherlock only nodded, a little dazed from the hypnotic paths the doctor's fingers had taken over his skin. The slow expert stroking of John's hand was the only thing grounding him and he desperately wanted more.

"Yes please." For some reason he felt very contrite, and Sherlock wasn't sure if it was because he had finally resigned himself to what he'd known to be inevitable from the start or whether it was something his lust addled brain couldn't quite comprehend at the moment.

Pressing a kiss against Sherlock’s thigh John quickly coated two fingers in the lube before setting it aside and starting the slow stroking once again. He waited a few moments, watching Sherlock react to his touch, before he let one slicked finger circle the tight pucker. He didn’t do more than that for a few moments, carefully teasing the sensitive skin, the pad of his finger just pressing against the opening.

When he was sure Sherlock was beginning to relax he slipped his index finger past the tight ring of muscle, gasping softly as the silky heat wrapped around the digit. He moved slowly at first, until he could slip his finger in with ease. The next part was easy, he’d done it enough times that he knew exactly where his target was. With clinical accuracy he gently stroked Sherlock’s prostate with the pad of his finger before pulling out completely.

The detective had been content to let small pleasure noises fall from his lips, but as John found his prostate a soft cry burst from his chest. John's hand still stroked his member in languidly, trying not to work him up too much.

John ran the two slicked fingers back and forth, entranced by the muscles clenching and unclenching around his fingers, begging for more. Seeing Sherlock writhing beneath him had ignited something a bit more feral in John. He moaned as he pressed the two slicked fingers into Sherlock with ease, his mind quickly imagining the tight heat enveloping him.

He carefully worked to prepare Sherlock, opening and relaxing the tight muscles with the two fingers while stimulating his prostate gently. Each time his fingers would curl to brush the sensitive spot his opposite hand twist at the top of his stroke, simultaneously caressing the tip.

Sherlock was quickly becoming pliant and open, but to be sure John slipped a third finger in, twisting and spreading the fingers gently before resuming his gentle assault on the mans prostate. John’s own cock was achingly hard, and he found himself groaning as he watched his fingers disappear inside of Sherlock with ease. The hand on Sherlock’s member fell away, but was quickly replaced by John’s mouth, teasing him relentlessly. He never fully took him in his mouth, just sucked, licked and kissed his way up and down Sherlock’s cock and balls. 

He was pure want beneath John’s ministrations now, nothing but a wound up ball of need. His hips bucked shallowly as the head of his member was enveloped in slick heat.

"John..." Sherlock's voice was breathless and he tugged at the soldier's sandy hair, "Stop teasing me." A faint whine filtered in with his voice belying how much he wanted this. "I need you." Came the softer statement. He felt like he was saying so much more than he intended, but at the moment he didn't care. He wanted all of John and he wanted it now.

“I know.” John cooed as he pulled his fingers away and sat up. He said I know and the words made his chest feel tight with emotion, because he knew in this moment Sherlock did need him, what he didn’t know was if he would still need him when it was over. Fetching the lube again to spread it along his own aching arousal. His breath hitched and he let out a breathy moan as he stroked himself twice, spreading the lube along himself quickly. 

Scooting forward he lifted Sherlock’s legs, knees hanging over his shoulders with ease so he could line himself up. John kept his eyes on Sherlock’s, never straying from the intense gaze as he pressed into Sherlock. He couldn’t, however, control the moan that ripped from his chest as the muscles tightened around him. 

He moved slowly, working his way in until their bodies were flush. John was panting from the effort it took to keep still, giving Sherlock that moment to adjust to the new sensation. 

It burned like hell at first, and the detective grit his teeth against it, but as John stilled and their breaths became ragged, the pain melted away into a need for more. More of John, more of everything he would give. The first indication that Sherlock gave was a small roll of his hips against the stockier man, and a whisper soft moan was offered up as a graceful hand laced through sandy locks. 

“Move.” He commanded breathlessly, his eyes never leaving John’s either. Their locked gazes made the entire experience more intense and he felt a blush creeping over his cheeks as a wonton groan was pulled from his lungs.

John quickly obliged, still moving carefully. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back into Sherlock slowly, a guttural moan ripping from his chest. His still slicked hand reached between them to stroke Sherlock in time with his thrusts which began to pick up, moving faster as he adjusted his angle searching for the bundle of nerves that would undoubtedly undo the detective.

With each thrust it felt like John was pushing the air out of him, and allowing him to breath once more as he pulled away. It felt so intimate being filled with John, and he could see why the other man couldn’t help moaning and writhing while in the same position. Sherlock groaned deeply and arched his back causing the head of John’s cock to press against his prostate. A jilted cry wrenched from his lips as he tossed his head on the pillows. 

“John.” he said breathily, wriggling needily beneath him. 

Hearing his name so desperately on the others lips enticed John to move faster, keeping the new angle as he moved. Breathy moans slipped out between ragged breaths as he leaned forward. One of Sherlock’s legs splayed out to the side, the other pressed into his chest as John brought them closer together. His free hand cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, kissing him deeply as they moaned into each other’s mouths. 

Pulling his lips away from the other he growled lustfully, the hand beneath them quickening as his own thrusts began to grown erratic. “Oh Sherlock, you’re gorgeous like this... Come on love, come for me.” 

Sherlock did his best to return the kiss but the sensations washing over his body were too intense to warrant much reaction from him. However as John’s hips adopted a faster gait, his hand a blur over the detective’s weeping member, and his words searing through his mind, Sherlock’s body began to arch obscenely underneath the doctor. His breathing was audible, more a litany of groans than actual breathing, and the awe he heard in John’s compliment made him feel so at home and absolutely perfect that he threw an arm over his eyes to hide the wetness that had begun pricking at them. 

Even in that moment of feeling like he finally belonged somewhere, Sherlock knew it wouldn’t last. It never did, and giving himself up to John like this felt like ripping a piece of himself out to leave with his blogger for the rest of their pathetic lives. He couldn’t look the blonde in the eyes like this, feeling so desperately hopeful and despondent in the same breath, he tossed his head to the side, long fingers stretching over the ‘S’ on John’s arm, gripping tight as if he were the only thing holding Sherlock in this realm. 

“Yes... John! Ah... I’m....” he couldn’t make his mind form around any more words than that as he felt his body being launched over the precipice. He came, hard, with a hoarse cry filling the air. His nails bit into both John’s arm and his own shoulder, his teeth searching out the skin of his forearm as his body convulsed in a heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

With a few desperate snaps of his hips John was crying out as the pleasure coiled deep within him released. Incoherent moans fell from his lips as he shuddered against Sherlock. His face fell against the others collarbone, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against the skin in between keening noises. 

John felt detached and heady, the world slowly coming back into focus as the last waves of the orgasm washed over him until finally he pulled out and collapsed against the detectives chest. One hand carded through Sherlock’s hair as he nuzzled against his neck, trying to hold on to the post coital bliss before reality crashed back over them. He didn’t care that they were a sticky hot mess, he just wanted to close out the world and keep Sherlock as close to him as possible

“Thank you.” he breathed against his neck. He knew Sherlock would understand the simple statement. John wasn’t thanking him for asking him to top, no. It was the trust and connection he’d never given John before that he was thankful for. 

Sherlock dried his eyes as he drew his arm across his face and wrapped both arms around the man. He hummed noncommittally and rubbed his cheek against Johns hair as he shifted their weight to the side so John was no longer on top of him. 

As he lay there, he willed himself to come down from the post coital bliss as slowly as possible. He didn't want reality to come crashing back in and ruin this moment. Curling around John, he threaded his leg through the doctor's, hooking his knee and holding him close.

"So that's what I've been missing." He said a little hoarsely against John's hair.

"Everything you thou-" John started as he pulled back enough to look Sherlock in the eyes. His voice halted, seeing the unimaginably sad look on the normally stony features. Fear flooded John as he struggled from their entwined limbs to look Sherlock over.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" Johns mind was already filling in the blanks. How he could have hurt him physically or emotionally. He hadn't even asked if Sherlock had ever been penetrated before, hadn't considered what this meant for Sherlock. 

Shit. He slowly let his mask slip back into place so as not to seem forced, and even gave John a small smile. "You just fucked me into one of the best orgasms of my life, why would anything be wrong?" His long fingers came up to brush over John's face, memorizing, as they slid back to cup his jaw.

Pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips, Sherlock fought hard to close the door on his emotions for now, and finally slipped back into his easy comfort with the man in his arms. When he pulled back from the kiss, he looked into John's impossibly blue eyes and allowed himself one admittance to the blonde.

"I could lay here kissing you for days and wouldn't grow bored of it." His smile widened as he placed a light kiss on the furrowed forehead.

For a moment it felt as though they had redeemed some of the old comfort that John had feared was truly lost. His features relaxed and he smiled back at Sherlock as he considered taking him up on that offer, but the post coital haze was fading and they were in desperate need of a shower. 

“I’ll have to take up up on that one day,” John teased as he leaned in for another languid kiss. He was sure that alone would not keep his madman’s mind contented for very long, but the simple fact that he’d said it was enough for John. The kiss was long and slow, no longer coursing with burning desire, until finally John pulled away. “Shower?”

"Agreed." Came the detectives reply. The shower was warm and comforting, but as Sherlock ran the flannel over John's back the sinking feeling in his stomach returned and when they were both clean and dressed, Sherlock quickly retreated to the kitchen to resume his experiment.

He found his abandonment earlier had given the acid too much time to eat the bacteria and cursed under his breath. He would have to start all over. He burrowed himself in the familiar flow of working over the reactions and hypothesis' in his mind and barely noticed when a cup of tea was set down beside him. He sipped at it even after it had gone cold, and heard the pages of a novel turning in the living room. 

He found himself adding new variables to get different reactions that he hadn't initially set on just to allow himself more time to calm and pull his normal measured surly self back together. He hasn't even realize it had gone dark until the kitchen light was flipped on for him. He muttered a small thank you and drained his cup of the rest of his tea.

John spent the evening reading, or trying to read, as he watched Sherlock diligently working on an experiment he hadn’t yet explained. Of course he’d tried to open up conversation, but just as the detective could continue talking unaware that no one was listening, he could completely ignore that there was anyone around, simply engrossed in his own mind. There was something beautiful about it, even if Sherlock’s focus wasn’t directed at John he enjoyed watching him work.

When it became apparent that Sherlock wasn’t planning on going to bed John came up behind Sherlock, gently wrapping an arm around his waist and placing a chaste kiss to the detectives temple. They’d work things out, he told himself as he muttered a goodnight and left Sherlock to his work. He needed the work, that had never changed. It took John a while to drift off, the soft clinking of test tubes and petri dishes filling the empty space of the room. 

…..

Sherlock had sighed softly when John’s arm slipped around him, the touch familiar and comforting. Mentally he cursed his pavlovian reactions to the doctors touch as the gentle kiss spurred a returned goodnight. He made no promises to come to bed later, offered no reassurance, merely made John aware he knew he was going to bed. John bumbled off to the bedroom, and Sherlock pulled away from his microscope, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

Now that he was alone, his mind was running rampant. What was he going to do? Things had become so incredibly complicated, and now he actually had something invested in John. However relationships had always been a mystery to him, one he’d never truly cared to solve, and what little he did know suggested that his eccentric personality made for an impossible lover. Perhaps he could slowly start to drift away, and John would just think he’d grown bored. 

After investigating all other avenues he found that one to be best, the option with the least amount of hurt to all. It would end as gradually as it had started, and John would understand. He hoped. His selfishness played into his decision as well, because he wasn’t sure he could just give everything up that had become normal. John’s comfortable touches and possessive notions, he didn’t want to give it up at all, but after the past few days, it seemed like it was the only plausible option. 

Putting away his tests, he turned the light off and retired to the bedroom. Standing beside the bed, he looked down at John, sleeping soundly and his brows knit with frustration. The smaller man looked so peaceful, and he was worried that putting an end to whatever was going on between them would bring back the nightmares. However, he reassured himself, things would turn out better this way. They wouldn’t lose each other completely. That was the important part. 

Pulling the covers up, he slid beneath them and wrapped his arms around the sleeping soldier, feeling the smaller man relax into his embrace. Sherlock pressed his nose into John’s hair, squeezing his eyes tight against the painful pricking behind his eyes. For a long time he just held the man tightly, as if he might be yanked from him at any moment, but, as John continued to snuggle back against him, Sherlock gradually relaxed into sleep.


	14. Say Something

When John woke up he was surprised to find Sherlock snaked around him, legs intertwined perfectly, his arms holding them fast back to chest. Not wanting to wake the detective John gently ran his hand over his arm, until their fingers were loosely intertwined. 

He honestly hadn’t expected Sherlock to come to bed, not with how fixated he had been on his experiment the previous night. It was a cathartic thing, John understood that much at least. If Sherlock was trying to work through something difficult, something he couldn’t figure out, he’d put his mind to work on things he could work out. John hoped that the fact that he had come to bed meant they were through this rough patch.

Now the only problem John had left to deal with, at least for the moment, was his mother. He’d already decided the night before that he had to call her back, set things straight, and with Sherlock wrapped around him John felt horribly guilty for how he’d dealt with the situation. Sherlock had been right, John had demanded that he see his mother, but he wasn’t even willing to tell his family over the phone that they were together. Had Sherlock not stepped in when he did John couldn’t say that he would have come clean with his mother, and his gut twisted at the thought. He would have been furious had Sherlock done this to him. 

Shifting away from Sherlock a bit John reached over him to grab his phone, dialing his mother as he slipped back into place beside Sherlock. It was after eight, so he had no fears of waking her. The phone rang once, twice, and then the familiar click of the phone being answered. 

John breathed deeply before speaking, “Hello mum.” 

“Well to what do we owe the honor John.” Her tone was less than pleased, however her voice softened a little once a sharp response came from somewhere beside her, “Your father is upset with how things ended yesterday.”

Behind John, the tinny voice of his mother filtered through Sherlock’s sleep, causing him to stir. His arms sought out the warmth of smaller man, pulling him to his chest, nose nuzzling the doctor’s throat as he blinked awake. He noticed John on the phone and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before pressing his nose into sleep tousled hair and breathing deep. His fingers skimmed up a tanned chest as he settled in, curious as to who he was speaking with so early in the morning. 

John’s hand quickly sought out Sherlock’s, holding on just in case he decided to take off once he realized who was on the phone. He needed Sherlock to hear this. 

“So am I.” The short statement meant more than his mother could imagine, but he didn’t care to elaborate. Preparing himself for whatever reaction it would incite from his mother John barreled on, “I should have told you earlier... but that doesn’t change anything.” He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say when he’d picked up the phone, he knew he just had to set things right. “Sherlock... he’s very important to me.” 

The detective’s fingers tightened on John’s. Oh no. He didn’t want to be here. This wasn’t conducive to the resolve he’d carefully put in place, but, the way the doctor gripped his fingers back made him stay. In the back of his mind he knew that he would always do what John needed, no matter how much he might want to do the contrary. 

“But John... It’s just... it’s unnatural...” She was really fighting this hard, “I had such high hopes for you John, I was looking forward to grandchildren I could spoil. Surely you must understand where I’m coming from sweetheart.” Sherlock’s gut tightened at the mention of children again. In a way it strengthened his resolve, he’d have to let John go eventually so he could carry on with his life. 

“I’m happy.” John said simply. He couldn’t deny that he’d imagined having a family, children perhaps, but he had to be reasonable. Even before him and Sherlock had happened John had just about given up any hope on having that picture. He was an invalided soldier with PTSD edging into his forties, the idea of a nuclear family had left his mind a long time ago. 

Unnatural. He had to fight back his temper as the word echoed in his mind. Squeezing Sherlock’s hand reassuringly he chose his words carefully.

“Sherlock makes me happy... Surely you can understand where I’m coming from.” He couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face from throwing her words back in such a passive aggressive way. 

“You’re just acting this way because he was gone for so long. John how can I accept this when I know how much he hurt you. Have you forgotten that he pretended to be dead for three years?” her tone was tight and clipped. 

“If he hadn’t done that I’d be dead.” He snapped back at her before he could filter the words.

“Oh I’m sure he was exaggerating honey.” She said, “Who in their right mind would want to kill you?” 

“Exaggerating?!” John let out a choked laugh as he scrambled to a sitting position still gripping Sherlock’s hand, his temper beginning to win out. “Psychopaths, murderers... Not as if it’d be the first time I was at the receiving end of a bullet. He has saved my life more times than I can count. Do you understand what he does?”

Sherlock sat up as well and slid behind him, wrapping his free arm around John’s waist, still leaving his fingers twined with John’s. He pressed his lips to the man’s shoulder trying to offer what little comfort he could. However, he knew this was something he simply had to let John do while silently offering to be there when he was needed. 

“I understand he’s a giant fake.” she said with a sniff, “And I understand he sent you into a depression that lasted three years John. He made your life a hell on earth. How can you just let all of that slide? He lied to you, he’s even gotten you into more of a mess since he’s been back. I understand that you had to take a trip to the hospital shortly after he came back. Harry wouldn’t give me the details, she just told me you were alright, but John! Think about what you’re doing here! You’re riding in blind!”

John felt as if he was physically shaking in anger. A low hum buzzing through his ears, the warmth and stability of Sherlock’s body pressed against his own being the only thing anchoring him to the moment. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. If you had any idea what he’s done, the lives he’s saved... ” His voice had grown low and dark, “I was calling to set things right, give you a chance to meet him, but I meant what I said yesterday. If you’re going to believe every sodding piece of shit the media cooks up you aren’t going to see either of us. I’m not going to subject him to that, and I’m not going to listen to it. If you want to listen to reason I’d be happy to set the record straight, but if not I think we’re done.” By the end of his quick spoken declaration John was no longer shaking. He was staring darkly at the corner of the room, leaning back into Sherlock. 

Sherlock was pressing quiet but searing kisses against John’s throat. Yesterday's conversation was slowly falling into place. ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to bring him to meet you anyways!’ Sherlock let out a soft sigh, a mix between relief and understanding. That hadn’t been John being ashamed, he’d been trying to protect him. He wanted to take this anger away, but that was illogical. His fingers curled around the smaller man’s ribs pulling him tight against his chest as his long legs came up, easily framing him with long limbs. 

The line was silent for a long time, but finally after many murmurs from the other side, she finally spoke, “He really makes you happy?” She asked incredulously, “Tell me the last thing he’s done to make you happy and I’ll agree to listen.” She sounded like she was beginning to give in thanks to his father’s insistence.

John knew what she wanted to hear, and it wasn’t their companionable silence, or the warmth he’d felt when he’d woken up wrapped in his arms. She wanted gestures, grand and romantic.

“We went to his family's estate last weekend,” John’s voice had immediately softened as the memory played out on his minds eye. “We went horseback riding, explored the grounds, and when afternoon rolled around...” a blush was creeping up his neck, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “he uhm... He lead me out to a lake on the edge of the property. He’d set up a whole picnic lunch. Wine, cheese, the whole bit.” He was sure it sounded flowery and wasn’t giving her a proper picture of their relationship, but it wasn’t a lie and it was what she needed to hear to accept them. 

“It’s not what you’re used to... but it doesn’t mean we care for each other any less than an ordinary couple.” They’d beat death together. Even considering Sherlock’s limited understanding of emotions John was fairly certain they actually cared about each other quite a bit more than traditional couples, straight or otherwise. 

“Oh John...” her voice was awed as she created the picture in her mind. “Oh alright. John, if he makes you happy I suppose I can’t complain...” She sounded like she was smiling just a little. “And if it will get you to come see us for once I will meet him. Oh, do come down to see us? The weather is supposed to beautiful in a few weekends for the flower show! They’ve acknowledged my roses this year! Your father and I are entering the red and yellow ones. Oh do say you and... Sherlock will come to the flower show.”

Sherlock gave a small grunt behind him. He knew he would go if John asked him to. There was no question.

John was slightly taken aback by the sudden change of heart, but all the same he was thankful for it. Visiting during the flower show didn’t exactly appeal to John, except for the fact that it would give his mother something else to focus on, other than him and Sherlock. 

“Uhh, yeah. I mean I’ll need to check our work schedules,” he knew they could both get out of any work they did have, but they needed to at least talk it over before he agreed, “but if everything works out.. Yes, that would be lovely.” 

No longer on the defense John relaxed quickly. “I don’t want there to be any question though mum. He is not a fake.” This had always bothered him the most, even before Sherlock’s disappearance. He had done more for the city of London than most of the yard, only rivaled by a few officers but there were still things Sherlock could manage that London’s best could not. John didn’t understand why after all of that people so easily accepted the lies.

Sherlock squeezed softly as her reply came over the phone line.

“Whatever you say dear… Oh John it will be so good to see you again. I love you sweetheart. I may not agree with your decisions, but I do love you.” Her smile was fairly evident now in her voice, “We’re just about to have breakfast, and I’m sure you you’re own things going on so I’ll let you go. Goodbye sweetheart.” 

“Love you too mum. Pass along my best to dad. Ta.” 

Ending the call and tossing his phone to the end of the bed John fully leaned back into Sherlock, letting his eyes fall closed as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Not bothering to open his eyes John nuzzled back into the lanky body as he spoke.

“Well that went much better than it could have.” His voice was more chipper than it had been in days and he relaxed his hold on Sherlock’s hand, their fingers loosely intertwined once again. After a moment his brows furrowed in thought before asking, “You okay with this? We don’t have to go, I just wanted... I had to fix it.” 

Sherlock was quiet for a long time as he traced lazy circles on John’s thigh with his free hand. His voice was soft as he spoke. 

“Would it make you happy for me to go?’ His lips resumed the warm kisses he’d been placing over John’s neck, crossing up to his cheek, “All you need do is ask John. You know I’ll go.”  
His tone was gentle and he wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling the doctor’s arm with his and curling their bodies together. 

The new bout of adoration made John’s stomach flutter momentarily. He had been so sure that something between them was ruined, but neatly wrapped against Sherlock and feeling his lips on his neck and cheek made it impossible to think they would ever face a problem they couldn’t work through. 

“Setting things right would make me happy. They accepted Harry, begrudgingly, but they did. So yes. Sherlock will you go to see my parents with me?” He twisted in Sherlock’s grasp a bit so he could see his face, “First sign of trouble we’ll leave, and I’ll try and get Harry to go too.” 

John was beginning to speak a bit faster than normal, already nervous about his family meeting Sherlock under the new pretences. 

Sherlock nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I will stay as long as you need me to. You know I give no thought to what people think of me. It's you that I worry will get the brunt of the negativity." He frowned, his brows knitting together.

"I don't want to cause issues between you and your family, but if Harry can arrange to visit along with us, that would be agreeable. It would be nice to have someone that is supportive. However, it appears to only be your mother you were fighting with. How does your father feel about it?" He nuzzled his cheek against John's affectionately.  
.  
John hummed softly, pleased by the affections, before forming a response. “He’s not like my mum. I mean I doubt he’s thrilled over it, but he’ll listen to reason. The fact that he was trying to calm down my mother says a lot... I think you’ll like him actually, I took after him quite a bit” 

“Apparently not as much as you think.” Sherlock said with a small chuckle, “You have obviously inherited her hot headed temper. You are just as impossible when you’re angry.” 

“Well other than that,” John grumbled, he wasn’t particularly proud of his short fuse, which had only gotten worse since Afghanistan. “Besides I’m not nearly as bad. You should’ve seen her when we were kids...” He shook his head laughing at the memory. “It doesn’t take much to set her off.”

“It doesn’t take much to set you off either.” Sherlock’s voice was suggestive as he nibbled on John’s ear. Both hands slid up his chest, drawing John’s hands with him, “But it’s very convenient to distract you that way.” The detective used his weight to roll them both over, pressing his growing erection into the swell of the smaller man’s arse.

….

With all of their issues seemingly behind them the pair fell into a sense of normality, or as normal as life was at 221b Baker Street. It took one quick phone call to ensure Harry would be coming with them to visit his parents, making it explicitly clear that she was to be a buffer. She didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact John was fairly certain his dad had probably already talked to her. 

Two days later, John had been getting ready for a shift at the clinic when Lestrade barged in, standing in the doorway of their sitting room. 

“Mrs. Hudson, she let me up. Is Sherlock in?” Lestrade was a bit out of breath, as if he’d hurried over to find Sherlock. John knew the look, the desperate look that clearly said he had a case, something they couldn’t quite work out.

“Yeah, come on in, I’ll grab him.” John set down the tea he’d been finishing to pull Sherlock from their room. 

The day before John had come home to find the entire sitting room floor covered in photographs. They had been in between cases, so of course Sherlock had picked up a cold case that had managed to elude him before. John had not taken too well to the murder scene being recreated in photographs across the living room floor and after a slightly heated discussion the scene had been relocated to the bedroom. At least there John didn’t have to worry about the bloody images giving Mrs. Hudson a heart attack.

“Lestrade’s here, I think he has a case.” John said as he popped his head around the door jamb, only surprised to find one corner of the room completely plastered with photographs. “I’m just about to head to the clinic, but I can call Sarah if you want me to stick around...”

"That is unnecessary." He said obviously still upset over having to relocate,"Your pocket book has gotten a bit empty lately. You should go ahead, besides, what excuse will you tell Sarah this time?"

John hesitated for a moment, he still worried when Sherlock took cases on his own given his habit to take off on his own in his frenzy to solve the case, but they hadn’t had quite as many cases as of late and he really didn’t want to call out on Sarah again. So with a short nod, his lips quirked to the side he conceded. “Fine, just be careful. And if you’re gonna go chasing after any psychopaths... Don’t.” 

Leaving Sherlock to work his way out of the maze of photographs John made his way back out into the sitting room. Slipping on his coat as he spoke to the DI, now wondering about the room listlessly.

“He’ll be right out, if he runs off after any criminals give me a call. Don’t need him trying to kill himself.” He smiled fondly as he shook his head. He stopped in the doorway looking back at Lestrade curiously, “So how’d things go with Mycroft and your kids?”

Greg smiled widely, "Oh it went great, the kids love him." His smile widened conspiratorially, "My youngest calls him Papa Croft. He hates it but she does it out of love. You should see them when he finally gives in and reads them all bedtime stories, even Tori cuddles up and listens. I couldn't have imagined how well they'd all get along." 

Just then Sherlock came bustling out of the room, his leather bomber in place of the sweeping wool coat. "Shouldn't you be on your way to work John?" He asked, lightly shoving him towards the door. John let out a disgruntled huff as he was all but pushed out the door. Still, it was nice to have things back to normal.


	15. 15- You are my Sweetest Downfall

The day at the clinic hadn’t been nearly busy enough to keep John from wondering how the case was going, and it wasn’t just worry. John loved the thrill and rush of running through London with Sherlock, so after the third case of the flu he found he was actually a bit jealous. Especially after he didn’t hear from Sherlock all day. 

After far too long, five o’clock rolled around and John was able to bid Sarah goodbye. Itching for information John finally texted Sherlock while riding in the back of a cab.

On my way home. Still on the case? JW

Yes. Chasing a psychotic murdering rapist through London. Pick up Milk and lube. We are out. -SH 

Letting out an exasperated sigh John asked the cabbie to drop him off at the shop down the road from Baker Street before responding.

I’m going to pretend you’re saying that just to piss me off. Stopping off at the shop, I’ll be home shortly. JW

John had collected the two items quick enough, barely stopping long enough to glare at the teenager behind the counter who eyed the milk and lube as though they were somehow related. The shop was only a few minutes from the flat so he walked the rest of the way, still hoping Sherlock wasn’t honestly out rampaging through London. 

“Sherlock?” he called out into the flat as he pushed through into the sitting room, heading straight for the kitchen to put away the milk. Binning the paper bag he left the lube in the middle of Sherlock’s chemistry set up, just to be cheeky. 

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped right around his middle, one snaking up to ghost over a nipple through his button down, the other suggestively sliding down to cup John's member through his jeans. Hot breath ghosted against his skin as the large hands teased ruthlessly over both sensitive areas.

"Putting that somewhere convenient? How thoughtful." Sherlock's voice was a low thunder, husky and full of lust. It was the voice he knew could get John hard just from hearing it alone, 

"I've spent all day with Lestrade. He's not near as good company as my blogger."

Pressing his growing erection into Sherlock’s hand instinctually, John groaned softly. “I’d hope not,” he joked darkly, “At least you got to do something interesting, clinic was terribly dull.” He placed emphasis on the last word mimicking the way the detective would have described just about everything, but he had been incredibly bored. John had hoped to get pulled into the case when he got home, but this, he thought, was even better.

"Oh my dear doctor, I would much rather do you." He practically growled out the words, pressing his own rock hard shaft against the smaller man's arse, hands sliding under clothes. One gripped his hardening length firmly while the other rolled the dusky nipple between his fingers as he drug his teeth down the side of John's throat, his curly hair tickling the tanned skin.

They hadn’t done anything since the night he’d let the John take him, and Sherlock's attention had been solely on the cold case ever since, frustrated once again by the small pieces of evidence that had eluded him a handful of years back. He knew John would be just as eager for it as he was.

"Would you like that John?" His name is a purr on the detective's tongue.

John’s neck arched back, the back of his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder as he gasped softly at the sudden skin on skin contact. He could only assume the case was over, and apparently had been stimulating enough to get Sherlock off his cold case kick, John couldn’t have been more pleased. 

“Do you even have to ask?” he breathed heavily, grinding back against Sherlock in answer to his question. 

The detective let a soft groan roll through his throat at the contact and raised his mouth to John's ear, breath brushing over the sensitive skin. "I want to try something today...." His hand started moving over the doctor's stiff cock, his other hand coming down to pop the button and zip, giving his hand more room to maneuver, pulling him out and stroking with slow, tight pulls just the way Sherlock knew he liked it.

"Let me tie you up?" 

It didn’t take long for John to respond. He had thoroughly enjoyed it the last time, although Sherlock hadn’t asked so plainly before. For a moment John considered asking what Sherlock had in mind, but there was something to not knowing that made it all the more exciting.

“I’m all yours.” A mischievous grin pulled at his lips as he said this, a small thrill rushing through him at the thought of surrendering himself to Sherlock.

"All mine..." He repeated, his chest vibrating with the noise. His hands were removed from Johns body and he pointed to the bedroom. "Strip and lay face down on the bed. Do not touch yourself, I will know if you do. I'll be along shortly." 

With that said, he stepped back and leaned against the table, his mouth set in a hungry, wolfish grin. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow waiting for John to obey his command.

John turned to look at Sherlock, a little surprised by the sudden command. He stood dumbly for a moment, hair already ruffled, trousers completely undone, but the detectives expression set him into motion. Nodding curtly at Sherlock, accepting the orders, he tucked himself back into his trousers, and headed for the bedroom.

By the time he was in their room the anticipation had him completely hard, and he quickly stripped down to nothing. Trying to listen for Sherlock as he positioned himself on the bed. It was maddening to lie still and wait, and even though the bed sheets were less than rewarding John found himself pressing his hips into the mattress slowly, itching for any sort of friction.

Sherlock entered the room a few moments later, a sharp swat landing on John's exposed rear when he saw the thrusting hips into the mattress. John started as the stinging hand came down on him, but it stopped his movements quickly. Sherlock set a box on the floor and tossed the lube on the bed beside John. 

He pulled a few things from the box and moved towards the bed. His hand brushing gently over the blonde's back. "Hands behind your back, wrap your fingers around the crease of your elbow." His voice was deep and commanding as his hand took a firm grip on the smaller man's arse cheek. 

Without a single thought John complied, wrapping his arms back as Sherlock had instructed, it only pulled on his shoulder a bit but the promise of what was to come made John forget that. Distantly he wondered what all was in the box on the floor, but even turning his head John couldn’t see inside it. His fingers wrapped tightly around the opposite elbow lying perfectly still.

Sherlock moaned at the sight of John complying so quickly and slipped forward, pushing a silky rope between his arms and back. It took him a few minutes, but after threading the rope between his arms and back, then up his biceps on both sides, the rope cross crossing, he had John's arms secured tightly behind his back.

"Now roll over." His voice was deep as he let his fingers tickle up John's spine, rubbing his thumb over the muscle in John's bad shoulder. He knew he would owe John a fantastic back rub after this but he decided it was worth it.

A shiver ran down his spine at Sherlocks touch, a soft moan escaping his lips as he tried to press into the fingers ghosting along his skin. When the fingers disappeared and John moved to turn over, it became painfully obvious just how tightly his arms were bound. He had absolutely no mobility in his arms. It was intoxicating, if not a bit frightening. The thrill made him grin up at Sherlock as he maneuvered himself over onto his back with Sherlock’s guidance. His eyes were blown wide with desire, but his brows furrowed slightly in question.

The detective gave him a reassuring but slightly evil smile as he let long fingers trail up the inside of his thigh, the pads of his fingers ghosting over his balls and up the length of his shaft, bobbing and heavy with lust. 

"There is something absolutely magnificent about having you bound and helpless to my desire." He said hoarsely. His hand mirrored it's earlier trip, moving back down until it reached his left knee, the one closest to Sherlock. The lanky man lifted and began wrapping the rope around the middle of his thigh. Once it had been looped there thrice, he wrapped the rope around his calf, leaving about a foot of slack between the lengths of his leg. The position would essentially press the knee to the doctor's chest, the flat of his foot parallel to the ceiling if his hips were rolled backwards.

John’s breathing began to pick up, fear winning out in his mind. He mentally wrestled with himself as Sherlock secured his calf, severely limiting how much he could move his legs. It was as if a switch had been flicked, he was still insanely aroused, but he felt like he shouldn’t. This was not like last time, he couldn’t move away, not even if he wanted to. Even still, he was insanely turned on by it, and this was Sherlock, John had to believe he wouldn’t do anything too not good. 

When he moved to mirror the pattern on his opposite leg John swallowed thickly, finally deciding it was a bit too much, too quickly. 

“Sherlock...” he started cautiously, “I.. It’s a bit much. All this.” He moved his left leg back and forth by his hip, the only real movement he could manage, as if the emphasize when Sherlock had begun to cross the line. John knew he could have just said stop, it would have been simpler, but he didn’t want to stop, just to take a step back.

Sherlock had expected this. He had tucked the silky rope under he the doctor as he had moved, the rope would keep his legs open when he was done tying John up. When John began vocalizing his discomfort Sherlock was above him immediately, evaluating his state by his eyes. He was still insanely aroused but his brain and most likely the part of him that was a soldier was screaming out at the inability to escape. He knew what John needed.

"Kiss me." He said suddenly. His voice was not commanding, but it wasn't a question either. His eyes locked with John's watching carefully for any true signs that this was too much. He knew John would enjoy himself if only he could get over not having the ability to escape. His eyes actually looked a little hurt when the thought that John didn't trust him crossed his mind. 

The emotions playing across Sherlock’s eyes as he stripped John’s last defenses down with his penetrating gaze was enough to make John hesitate for a moment. They stayed like that, each trying to understand the other’s true emotions, before John gave in. His features softened as he strained his neck up to press his lips against the others soft cupids bow. 

Despite his position the kiss quickly grew heated, Johns body arching trying to reach for more contact. A soft moan from the blonde made it apparent that John was still quite aroused and interested, despite his previous remark. 

Sherlock licked one last deep kiss from the doctor’s mouth before pulling away and rubbing his thumb over the doctor’s full, kiss swollen bottom lip. “Better?” he asked placing biting kisses all down his throat before moving to pull the rope tight, pulling John’s left leg open as wide as he could without fear of hurting the smaller man before working to tie it around his thigh. His fingers ghosting along the sensitive skin to drive his lust higher. The increased heart rate and blood pressure would help.

Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, John’s tongue ran across it’s swollen surface nervously, but nodded surely. As Sherlock finished securing the second leg John felt his chest tighten slightly, his mind battling over the loss of control of his body. That only seemed to heighten his senses, outwardly gasping as Sherlock’s fingers seemed to deny him the touch he needed. He felt heady as desire, mingled with fear coursed through him, unable to react in anyway other than the breathy sounds falling from his lips already.

Sherlock twisted the end of the rope into a tight knot, and let John’s legs fall open with the tension on the rope. Stepping back to the foot of the bed, the detective let out a deep rumbling groan. When he’d decided to do this, he hadn’t thought that John would be so damn gorgeous tied up and totally at his mercy. 

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, his hand coming down to palm at his straining member. “John.” Slowly, he let his fingers pop the buttons on his shirts, pale fingers ghosting over his chest as his eyes locked on the doctor’s. When his fingers reached his belt line he pulled his shirt out of his waistband, and unfastened his trousers, letting them hang low on his hips and his shirt hung around his frame. He moved forward again and came around the side of the bed.

“I think having your mouth wrapped around my cock is a delightful idea... what about you John?” he asked his fingers stretching out to caress the blonde’s face. 

In the time it had taken Sherlock to undo the buttons John had relaxed considerably, he seemed barely aware of the bonds holding him in place as he pressed into the detectives fingers, humming softly in agreement. It had to be the adrenaline that was making him feel like this, John was sure of it. Everything felt a little detached, heady, but Sherlock was here, so he knew he’d be perfectly fine. 

Turning his head to the side he caught one of Sherlock’s long fingers. He sucked on the digit for a moment, his tongue working at the pad of his finger suggestively before pulling away again and letting the pale finger fall from his lips with a small pop. 

Sherlock’s eyes were a little unfocused as his finger slipped from those sinful lips. His lips fell open as his breath comes in pants, and his arousal twitched in his trousers. The detective shifted, kneeling on the bed and lifting his cock from his pants stroking it lightly with his right hand as the left threaded through John’s hair, pulling his head closer.

“I’d take that as a yes, but you weren’t particularly convincing.” He rubbed the head of his member over John’s lips, spreading the slight wetness there and watching for that delicious tongue to flicker out and taste it, “Do you really want my cock in your mouth?” His smile was deliberately evil.

“Godyes.” His words slurred together slightly, the heady dizziness making it difficult for him to string his thoughts into anything coherent. His tongue skirted across his lips before jutting out farther to swirl around the tip of the member still on his lips. Half lidded eyes jumped from the cock in front of him to Sherlock’s face, meeting the detectives gaze with hunger and desire as he leaned forward enough to wrap his lips around the tip.

All the breath whooshed out of Sherlock’s lungs as the warm lips wrapped around his member. Shifting his hips forward and curling his fingers around the back of John’s neck, he allowed more of his length to disappear between John’s pink lips. 

“Oh god...” he whispered. Holding John’s head steady, he slowly and softly began canting his hips forward, thrusting into the doctor’s mouth, “John your mouth is positively sinful.” Another long low groan filtered through his chest as he felt the head of his cock press against the back of John’s throat. He was careful to keep the pressure light, never pushing too far so as to choke the smaller man, but keeping a delightful pressure for both of them.

John’s eyes fell closed as he easily relaxed. As Sherlock pulled away again the blonde’s tongue flattened against the glans, leaving a familiar salty taste on his tongue and as it was pressed deep into his mouth again John moaned around the flesh. His own member twitched in sympathy. He squirmed against the bonds still looking for contact, but got nowhere, which elicited a second sound, more of a whimper than anything.

That whimper made the detective shudder and press just a little deeper. He could feel the coiling begin in his stomach and cursed to himself before pulling out completely. He patted the side of John’s face and stepped back, removing his clothes completely. Once that was out of the way, he returned to the bed, kneeling between John’s bent legs. 

“I’d hate to come too soon.” he said, his fingers brushing down the doctor’s thighs, “But it looks like there’s something you might want.” The fingers ghosted just outside of touching the pulsing member between the doctor’s legs. 

“Where do you want my hands John?” he asked.

John followed Sherlock with his eyes, lids fluttering as his fingers just missed the aching member. He was surprised by the question, and again it took him longer than entirely necessary to form a response.

“You know where.” John had meant for the words to hold a bit more venom, but they ended up sounding rather needy. Looking away from the piercing green eyes John pressed his head back into the mattress. He knew the answer would only lead to more teasing, so he followed up with more explicit instructions, his voice even more breathy than before.

“My cock Sherlock. God. Please just touch me.” 

Suddenly there was a tight grip on the dripping cock before him. Sherlock grinned as his hand began slowly pumping over the member, his other hand finding the lube and coating his fingers before easily slipping two fingers down the cleft of his arse, pressing them both inside gingerly. With a wicked grin he lowered his mouth and let his tongue lave over the head, his fingers crooking inside of the man searching for his prostate.Once he’d found it, he set up a heady pace, sucking and licking over the head of his cock while ruthlessly stimulating his prostate. 

Pulling his head back Sherlock grinned down at John wickedly, before taking his whole length in one fluid motion, swallowing around the hardness tightly, his throat contracting tightly around his cock.

“Ohmygod,” John cried out. His hips attempted to move into the delicious heat of Sherlock’s mouth as he pulled back up, but he simply didn’t have the leverage. He let out another soft sound, almost surprising himself as he continued to whimper and pull against the bonds. In a matter of moments Sherlock had reduced him to a begging mess of sensations. Yes, he thought to himself, he was definitely quite alright with bondage. 

Once he’d prepared John enough, he slicked his own cock with more lube from the fresh bottle the other had brought home, and lined himself up. “I knew you’d like it if you tried it.” He said cheekily before slowly pushing inside all the way to the hilt. He let out a long low groan as he did, gripping   
John’s knees tightly and using them for leverage. 

Once he was fully seated, he gripped the ropes connecting John’s thighs and calves and pushed them back so that his fists pushed into the mattress, John’s knees pressed to his chest, changing the angle and letting him slip even deeper. 

“God John...” he breathed, feeling the man’s muscles contract all around him. He started to move then, a slow roll of his hips that quickly escalated. The position made John so tight around him that he could barely breathe. He wouldn’t last long at all like this.

John’s eyes rolled back slightly, lids falling closed as he moaned loudly. It was almost overwhelming how full he felt like this, not to mention he was completely and utterly open to Sherlock in this position. He couldn’t decide what he liked better about the ropes. How they bit softly into his skin, making it feel as though the tension building within him was surrounding him completely, or how it intensified every touch now that he couldn’t respond in turn. By the time Sherlock started moving again he decided he really didn’t care. 

Gasps and moans fell from his lips with each new thrust, the angle dragging Sherlock along his prostate each time.The detective felt the entire situation spurring him along much too fast, faster than he’d intended. Releasing one of the ropes, he let his hips keep him pinned in place, and wrapped his fingers around John’s length.

 

“God you are too gorgeous like this. I won’t last long... fuck..” Letting his head hang low, he thrusts harder, his motions knocking his bedframe against the wall.

“It’s fine,” John groaned, his back arching against the bonds as he moaned again, the combined sensations pushing him closer to the edge as well. “So bloody amazing,” he managed, the words broken between harsh breaths. 

Pressing his arms into the mattress he managed to raise his shoulders and head up slightly, curling himself up into Sherlock. He desperately wanted to touch, to feel Sherlock, but the only thing he could do was watch, almost entranced as Sherlock drove into him. The sight of it all hurling him closer to the edge. He dropped back into the mattress, his eyes clenching shut. “Oh fuck, Sherlock…”

“I know John..” he breathed. He let out a cry as John tightened around him with every thrust. His hand sped over the doctor’s cock, desperately trying to bring them over the edge together.

“God just fucking knowing that you can’t move, that you want to touch me and can’t...” he leaned forward, burying his face into John’s shoulder, “It’s driving me mad.” His hips snapped harder, his fingers twisting over the head as he finally let go, crying out loudly into John’s skin as he came deep inside of him. John’s own cry was muffled against Sherlock’s shoulder as his muscles tensed and shuddered. His breath hitched, and he could hardly breath, the aftershocks of the orgasm pulsing through his entire body. 

Soft, breathy sounds continued to slip from John, as they both drifted back down, his skin feeling oversensitized. They stayed like that for a few long moments until John began wriggling irritably, the tight ropes not feeling quite as comfortable now that he wasn’t riding high on endorphins. “That was…” John started, struggling fruitlessly for a word to describe it. “Yeah… but I think my arm is falling asleep.”

Sherlock pulled out of John and pressed a soft breathless kiss to his cheek before moving to untie the doctor’s right leg. He gripped it hard in his hands, turning this way and that, examining John’s skin minutely. Then suddenly, he was scrambling off the bed for his trousers. He returned with his phone, settling back on his heels, and dialing a number. He waited a few moments and when the person on the other line picked up he started talking immediately.

“Lestrade, yes the abrasions were from consensual bondage.” he was silent for a moment, “I tested it out on John.” Another moment, “You were the one that asked.” 

He hung up the phone and ran a hand over his smiling face and turned to look back at John’s confused face. “You just captured a killer John.” He said with a chuckle.

The confusion quickly turned to rage. He stuttered over his words for a moment, still fighting with the haze that seemed to be lingering over his mind.

“You used me for a case.” It was spoken almost as if John didn’t believe the statement, but the look on Sherlock’s face said it all. “You bloody prick! You tied me up for a damn case!” The headspace he’d fallen into shattered around him, his anger winning out.. He was just short of yelling at Sherlock, not particularly worried if Mrs. Hudson or anyone else heard at the moment. 

“I swear to god when I get out of these...” His threat hung in the air for a moment before he wrenched at the bonds, his right foot pulling at the ties on his left leg. “Untie me. Now.” His voice was low and dangerous.

Sherlock’s expression suddenly looked very young and childish. “Not good?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for a response. He untied John’s left leg as well and tossed the rope off towards the box on the floor. “You seemed to be enjoying it.” his curls covered his eyes as he gently pulled the doctor to sit up. He turned him under the pretense of untying his hands but pulled the restrained man against his chest instead. 

“Promise you aren’t going to hit me or anything when I untie you?”

John had almost softened at the look on Sherlock’s face, he knew the reasons why this was ‘not good’ were eluding him, but it didn’t make John feel any better. 

“No. I’m not promising you a damned thing!” He stopped, let out a deep exasperated breath.

Arms tightened instinctively around the smaller man’s torso. “If it’s any consolation at all John. As soon as I untie your arms, permitting you don’t rid the world of my existence, I planned on massaging your shoulder for you. I’m sure it must be paining you something terrible by now.” He felt like he was digging himself a hole, but he wasn’t about to let John go unless he knew the man wasn’t going to storm off or hurt him.

John’s head fell back against Sherlock’s shoulder as he muttered in disbelief. 

“It is going to take so much more than a bloody shoulder massage to make this up to me.” He was no longer yelling at least, just twisting uselessly at the bonds on his arms, his voice an angry growl. 

“Now. Untie me.” He turned to shoot Sherlock an icy glare as he spat the last two words again.

Sherlock undid the knots expertly, pulling a few loose bits and the entire thing fell loose around John’s arms. However, the man was across the room before John got his arms free, fleeing from the wrath.

“Oh? And what else must I do to make things up to you?” he asked, “Make tea for a week? Do the laundry?” 

John didn’t answer right away, not really certain if those offers were sincere or not. He glared pointedly at the lanky man as he carefully rolled his shoulder, trying to stretch out the muscles again. His mind was working, carefully deciding just how not good Sherlock had really been. The thing was he was right, John had enjoyed it. Obviously he could have fought back if he really wanted to, considering how angry he was with Sherlock at the moment. 

Slowly getting to his feet, letting the world settle in place around him, John walked up to Sherlock so that they were almost chest to chest. He felt Sherlock tense, as if waiting for a blow. 

“I’m not going to hit you. You’re a sodding idiot, but I’m not going to hit you.” His lips pulled to the side, a little bothered with how easily Sherlock could pull at his heartstrings. “A date. A proper date, with dinner and a movie. And I swear to god if you ever use me for a case again without my expressed permission I will punch you, and I won’t purposely miss like last time.” 

That being said he moved back to lay face down on the bed, cringing as he put weight on his shoulder. “Well come on, you did a number on my shoulder.”

Sherlock let out a small breath of relief, but as he moved to straddle the older man's hips and relax his muscles, something at the back of his mind told him that acquiescing to the 'date' was a bad idea.

However, a few days later when he and John were dressed up and sharing a taxi to Angelo's, his mind had softened to the idea. He had called ahead and the large man had saved their normal booth for them. Sherlock sat close and kept his left hand on John's knee all throughout dinner, actually eating a bit for himself just to make the doctor happy.

Angelo was more than pleased to see them, which meant their table had a single candle and was never without wine. John was no longer worried about the bondage incident, in fact he had gotten over the entire ordeal rather quickly. That is after Sherlock had made him countless cups of tea and assured him that he would not do anything case related on their date. John had almost been able to negotiate half of the kitchen for actual living purposes, rather than experiments, but when Sherlock had started moving beakers into their bedroom John changed his mind. 

It had however been a bit awkward when John had accompanied Sherlock to another crime scene. The look Lestrade had given him brought a flush to his cheeks faster than anything he could ever remember. He could only imagine how awkward it had been for the DI. Sherlock seemed oblivious to the exchange, which oddly enough helped things return to normal 

Dinner went splendidly, as far as John was concerned. He smiled fondly as Sherlock finished a fair portion of his meal. He knew Sherlock had only agreed for his own safety, but it was obvious the detective was enjoying himself. They prattled on about cases, and John spent a good amount of time listening to Sherlock deduce people passing on the street. He was fairly certain the detective just liked hearing the praise, but John was happy to give it.

Sherlock ended up enjoying himself more than he ever thought he would, and he decided that he never wanted the easy, contented smile to leave John's face. When they were done eating, he'd pulled out his wallet to pay for the wine at least, but Angelo wouldn't allow it. With a smile and a firm handshake to the owner, he led John out the door.

The cinema he'd chose was a retrofitted vintage theatre that still had the old projectors, something he knew the doctor would enjoy. It wasn't far enough from Angelo's for them to take a cab or the tube, so he slid his hand down John's arm, twining their fingers together as they walked, just so he could catalogue the expression on John's face.

He purchased their tickets, a black and white film noir mystery, and led the smaller man inside. They were alone, the venue not the most hip of places, but it seemed to fit them better than the million dollar movie screens. He pulled John to a seat in the very center of the theatre, and pushed the armrest up so he could wrap his arm around the blonde's shoulders.

When John had insisted upon the date he hadn’t actually expected Sherlock to go about planning the whole evening, but that only put him more at ease. He really should have known better than to insist upon a movie. They barely made it ten minutes into the film before Sherlock was practically twitching in his seat, deducing every detail of the mystery, grumbling over the lack of innovation when it came to mysteries.

“Not everyone can be as brilliant as you Sherlock.” John whispered, even though they had the entire small theater to themselves. “Now shush, some of us are trying to actually watch the film.” The urgent whisper was not quite as menacing as he’d hoped due to the fact that he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Irritating as it was, he loved seeing Sherlock’s mind work. John leaned against the detective, idly running his fingers along his thigh as his attention fell back to the screen.

Sherlock groaned and tried to be quiet, he really did, But when the detective made a truly idiotic mistake, Sherlock started throwing pieces of popcorn at the screen.

"No!!! NOOOOO! Of course it's not the fishmonger you idiot!!!" A tight squeeze on his thigh made him start and he turned to look at John's stern face.

"He's being absolutely unreasonable!!" He defended. He attempted once more to focus on the dull movie but he was quickly going crazy with clamping his mouth shut around insults. Then, he had a tantalizing idea, that he was surprised he hadn’t thought of sooner. 

With a wicked smirk he leaned down, kissing over John's neck to distract himself from the god awful movie writing. John tried to ignore the warm lips ghosting and nipping along his neck, but when they reached his earlobe an involuntary shiver ran through him. His hand ran along the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, stopping just before the straining fabric and skirting away again, still keeping his gaze focused on the movie. 

“You know, you were the one to pick this movie.” John chuckled softly, arching his neck to give Sherlock more room. 

"I picked it because I thought you'd like it." He said with a smirk, "So watch your movie, don't mind me..." The detectives tongue and teeth continued down his throat until he slid between spread knees, lifting a hardened member from its confines and taking it deep into his mouth.


	16. 16 - Realize

"For god sakes John calm down, we are going to see your mother it's not the end of the world." After watching the smaller man fuss for a few moments, he grabbed his belt loops and pulled him tight against his chest, a deep insistent kiss loosening the smaller man in his arms.

"Hey? What's got you all riled up?"

John let his head fall against Sherlock’s chest letting out a defeated sigh as he relaxed in the detectives grasp. "I know. I'm sorry."

His fingers idly tugged at Sherlock’s shirt as he pulled away a bit, straightening his collar. "I just don't want her to have any reason to start her shit... I want this to go well." He spoke softly, offering Sherlock a sheepish grin that only reached half his face. Meeting his gaze John gave Sherlock a serious look, imploring him to understand. "Just... Try not to be too... Just try and be nice, yeah?" 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pressed his lips lightly to John’s forehead. "I'll make an attempt, but I can not promise anything." The detective hated seeing John worked up like this. He'd never seen him so agitated over something so trivial. Pressing the side of one knuckle beneath his chin, he led the doctor to look up into his eyes, drawing close one more.

"I do not care what your family thinks of me John, but that does not mean I won't try for you." His voice was low and soft, "I assure you, nothing your mother could possibly say will affect me do you understand?" He sighed and pulled away, "Now stop flitting about, we will miss our train."

Nodding quickly John finished packing their bags, stuffing the last few things they'd need for the weekend into the front pockets. Satisfied, John turned back, seemingly relaxed by Sherlocks promise. 

"Alright let's go. Harry'll kill me if we're late." He shot a smile back at Sherlock as he hurried down the steps, pausing at the bottom to bid Mrs. Hudson goodbye.   
...

 

When they finally reached Sussex, Harry was waiting at the platform for them. When she saw them clambering off the train she hurried over, a relieved smile on her face. Wrapping her arms around John's neck she let out a sigh. "I was beginning to think you were going to leave me here with mother all weekend." 

John managed to return half a hug, his other arm burdened with one of their bags. "You know we wouldn't do that. Thanks for coming, how are they? Mum and dad?" John was chewing at the inside of his lip nervously as he pulled away, wordlessly asking what he was walking into. 

"She's so wrapped up in her sodding flowers she's barely noticed I'm here." She laughed, indicating that this was a good thing. "Dad’s rather excited though, kept asking me about you two." 

Her eyes softened, seeing the worry still behind Johns eyes. "It'll be fine." She squeezed his forearm before turning to Sherlock. "And my favorite consulting detective. I assume you've been treating my brother well?" There was a hint of a threat beneath the question, but a playful smile was pulling at her lips.

"Calling me your favorite consulting detective is repetitive as I am the only one." He said, attempting to come across as bored with the conversation, "And of course I'm treating your brother well. Would he stay if I were abusing him?" His chest puffed up slightly like a ruffled peacock, but it was obvious he was joking with the woman in his own, somewhat devastating, way.

Harry laughed looking back to John, "You weren't kidding. He is sorta Spock like isn't he?" She flashed them both a toothy grin before turning to lead them back out of the station. "Come on, I have mums car." 

John hurried after her, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. He seriously needed to reconsider what details he gave his sister, obviously.

The ride to the Watson home from the station was short and uneventful, but Sherlock felt his stomach clenching as Harry pulled the car up in front of a small cottage looking home with plants growing up the side of the building. He took a deep breath and reached for John's bag before the doctor could and offered a smile that was calculatively reassuring.

"Here we go." He whispered softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of John’s head.

John let out a shaky breath, nodding minutely returning the chaste kiss against Sherlock's lips before stepping out of the car. It looked very much like John remembered, the small old cottage surrounded by different colored roses and white gardenias. The front door began to open before Sherlock even had a chance to follow John out of the car, his mother bustling out excitedly, his father close on her heels. 

"Hi mum." John mumbled warmly, as she quickly pulled him into a tight embrace. "Dad." He said smiling at his father who was still a little outside of the group. 

Pulling back from his mother John stood next to Sherlock, his face hardened a bit as he looked between them. "This is Sherlock." It seemed like a ridiculous introduction. Obviously they'd seen the news and the papers, they knew who he was, but then again they didn't, not really. 

It was his father that broke the silence. He stepped forward, hand outstretched to the detective, a small smile on his lips. He stood just an inch or so taller than John, but still much shorter than Sherlock. The resemblance between the older Watson and John were striking.

"Nice to finally meet you." He offered strongly, shaking Sherlock’s hand. His words seemed sincere and it made Johns chest swell a bit, some of his anxiety quickly leaving his body.

Sherlock had set their bags down on either side of his feet when the older Watson had offered a hand to shake: he took it, gripping with a firm but friendly pressure. His smile looked genuine as he addressed them both. 

"Nice to meet you as well Mr. Watson." When he released the older man's hand he turned to the portly woman standing beside Harry. "Mrs. Watson." He held his hand out as if to shake, but when she politely took it, he brought it to his lips for a kiss. 

"John tells me you make the best banoffee pie." He released her hand and she sniffed condescendingly.

"That's because I do."she said curtly, and just like that the anxiety was back. A tight breathless feeling creeping over his chest. Sherlock at least seemed genuinely unbothered by her, which allowed John to keep it together shooting his father a look that begged the older man to talk to her so that John didn’t have to.

Stepping forward a bit, diffusing the tension lingering in the air Mr. Watson stepped in. “I think we were just about ready for dinner, John. If you want to show Sherlock to your room, get your things squared away.”

Giving his father a thankful look John nodded, guiding Sherlock between his parents and inside the house. They had barely made it through the door when they heard Harry not so slyly chastising their mother. 

“You could have at least tried to be nice.”

Letting the front door swing closed behind them John urged Sherlock forward, into a small bedroom at the end of the hall. Unlike Sherlock, John had taken all of his personal effects with him when he left his parents home, so the room was a bare spare room. The only furniture was a queen bed, with a dark blue duvet, a night stand with a few odd books that John was sure his mother had never read, and a small dresser. 

“Well that went.... better than it could have.” John finally decided, raking his hand through his short hair. It seemed to be his constant answer when he came to his mother. He had to admit, it wasn’t hard when his expectation was for her to be overtly rude about it all.

Sherlock set both bags at the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge, holding his arms out to John. “Sure it could have gone better, but think of it this way. Your father seems willing to get to know me, and Harry likes me enough already... She will have to come around eventually.” When the doctor paced close enough he caught the smaller man in his embrace and pulled him tight against his chest.

“A child that realizes that he is alone and everyone is having a time without them will eventually join in.” He pressed his face into John’s stomach, “I’m here for you, that’s all that matters.” He dropped a gentle kiss on the older man’s clothed navel.

John carded through the detectives hair softly, letting himself bask in the moment before they had to join the rest of his family for dinner.

“You’re right,” he agreed finally. “That is all that matters.” 

When Sherlock looked back up at John he was considerably calmer, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. “Come on, god knows what she’ll say if we take too long to show up for dinner.” He chuckled imagining what his mother would think.

“Oh yes, wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with sarcasm when he spoke, “That would be awful.” He smiled and pressed the smaller man into a tight hug before standing and helping John out of his coat. He laid it over the foot of the bed, removing his own and laying it on top. Sherlock would never admit it but he was nervous. A pang of unease roared through his stomach and he reached softly, pressing his fingertips to the small of the doctor’s back. He wasn’t sure if it was more for John’s comfort or for his own. 

“Shall we go then?”

John could hear movement coming from down the hall, everyone else was probably already in the kitchen waiting. Taking a deep breath John nodded and pulled the door open, leading Sherlock back through the house to the kitchen. They had obviously been waiting for John and Sherlock to arrive, the small wooden table was set and his mother was just moving the dishes of food to the center. 

Striding in next to Harry, who looked as though she wanted to help with something, but had been ushered out of the cooking area, John watched his mom for a moment before speaking.

“Smells great mum. Need any help?” John hadn’t spent time at his parents home since before Afghanistan, and with the recent turn of events, he wasn’t even sure how to act with them. 

“I could use an extra pair of hands for the roast.” she said from the kitchen. Harry started towards the kitchen to help but Sherlock raised a hand softly to stop her. 

“Why don’t you two go have a seat with Mr. Watson. From what I understand you have a lot to catch up on.” he smiled brightly and tightened his fingers at John’s back minutely before pulling away and heading to the kitchen. 

John hesitated for a moment, a little concerned at leaving Sherlock and his mother alone together, but Harry quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him along with her to the dining room. 

“Relax John,” she muttered, taking a seat and gesturing for John to do the same. His shoulders dropped a bit, trying to push the worry from his mind as he turned his attention to his father who was diligently working at a crossword puzzle. A pen nestled between his teeth in concentration.

“So dad, how’s retirement treating you?” He actually felt a bit bad about how their relationship had deteriorated during his depression. It had been because of his father that John had joined the army. Granted his father had been a grunt, far from the medical field that John went into. John been close to his father during his childhood, he’d emulated him really.

Mr. Watson’s head popped up, the pen falling from his mouth. “We’re showing flowers this weekend John.” There was a certain amount of humor behind the statement and John chuckled softly. 

“That bad?” 

The older man laughed openly, pushing the crossword away. “No, no. Just not as exciting as I’d like it to be. Well you know.” he raised his eyebrows, obviously referring to how John had avoided the crippling boredom of civilian life. “And don’t tell your mother I complained about the roses.”

John shook his head, falling back into a comfortable place with his father. “I won’t don’t worry.”  
...  
Sherlock entered the kitchen and stepped beside the portly woman, taking care to make his footsteps heard as he did. John had told him once that people didn’t take kindly to ‘being snuck up on.’ “Can I help?” he asked.

The older woman turned and her eyes hardened, her lips thinning as she pursed them and in that moment he was reminded so much of John it was staggering. “I thought John was coming to help.” she said.

“I offered to help so he and Harry could sit down with Mr. Watson. His shoulder has also been bothering him, but he’ll deny it.” He held up his hands offering to take the rather large roast plate she had been about to pick up. She released the sides of the platter, leaving it on the counter and turned, pointing at Sherlock, her stubby finger in his face. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at with my boy.” she said softly, her voice icy, “But I don’t want him hurt. You’ve done enough hurt to him already.” Sherlock reached up and took her hand.

“Mrs. Watson, no one knows more than I how much harm I have done to your son.” His eyes were sincere as he looked up into her eyes, “There are days I’m not even sure why he still speaks to me. But he told me once that I make him happy. That’s all I want for him, is for him to be happy, don’t you want the same?”

“Of course I do but-” 

“No buts Mrs. Watson. You can’t put a stipulation on happiness. I have prepared a course of action for when I no longer make him happy, and trust me when I say this madame. The day he pulls away from me I will let him go because he deserves to be happy. Whether it is with me or not. Your son means a lot to me. When we first met, I thought I was saving him, but over the course of time he has proven on more than one occasion that he is saving me.” The detective’s green eyes were intense, and for once Virginia Watson found herself speechless.

“He asked me if I wanted to come here, I told him yes because by no means do I want to take your precious son away from you. He worries that this weekend will be unpleasant because he does not want to see you unhappy with his life choices, he doesn’t want to upset you. Your son is a very selfless man, and I want to give him the joy of a weekend without having to worry. I have nothing against you Mrs. Watson, in all honesty I should thank you for making him into such a wonderful man. But, I want to give him a wonderful weekend with his parents, and all the people he cares about. And for all your strength on the matter madame, I think you want him to have that too. I’m sorry I’m not female, I know that is what you are fixated upon the most. But I can guarantee you, if that’s what John wanted, that’s what he would have. He is not settling for me, he’s chosen me because he wants me. I am powerless to do anything but give him what he wants.” He released her hand, and she pulled it back to her chest slowly. It was clear from her expression that she had not expected that at all. 

“Can I help you carry the roast?” he asked sweetly, as if nothing had happened. She handed him the platter and scooped up the the last bowl, mashed potatoes, and shook her head to rid herself of the surprised expression as they made their way back to the small dining room. Sherlock set the roast in the empty spot in front of Mr. Watson, and took his seat next to John, squeezing his knee under the table reassuringly to quell the worried look that was thrown his way by the doctor.

Slipping his hand over Sherlock’s John smiled softly, a wordless exchange between the two. The table was fell in a hush for a moment as dishes were passed around, John wasn’t too surprised this time to see Sherlock actually putting a fair amount of food on his plate. John knew that Sherlock ate regular meals to please him, but knowing that didn’t change the fact that it worked. 

“Everything looks amazing mum.” John offered turning his attention to the woman finally taking her seat. “So the rose festival... that starts tomorrow?” It was nice to turn the discussion away from himself for a moment. 

“Yes. The parade will go through town in the early afternoon, and then the carnival will be tomorrow night. Then the judging will be the morning after followed by the awards and the closing ceremonies.” She seemed more relaxed now, and as her and Sherlock’s eyes met over the green beans, she attempted a small smile. The detective returned it brightly and served himself before passing it to John. 

"Well the garden looks lovely, I'd be surprised if you didn't win." John said as he took the dish from Sherlock. He didn't miss the silent exchange between the two, and the last bits of his anxiety quickly slid away as Harry shot him an encouraging grin.

It didn't take long for comfortable conversation to take over. Mrs. Watson gossiped with Harry over some of the competitors and neighbors, people she obviously assumed Harry still remembered despite the fact that she’d moved to London right after uni. John knew Harry couldn't care less about the women his mum was carrying on about, but his sister nodded along with the conversation. Obviously he wasn't the only one aiming to please. 

Mr. Watson on the other hand was a lot more interested in Sherlocks work. He listened intently as Sherlock explained what it was they did. John's couldn't have asked for the meal to go better, as his parents were finally able to understand what they did. There was almost a hint of jealousy in the way his father hung on Sherlock's words. Civilian life hasn't suited his father any more than it suited him, but he'd come home to a family and had to adjust. 

“What do you mean deduce? You say you can just look at a person and know all about them?” the older woman scoffed, “That’s preposterous...impossible.” She shook her head. It was obvious she didn’t believe them.

“Well go on then, show them.” Harry said with a smile, “Show them how brilliant you are detective.”

“I’m not sure...” He said uncertainly. He turned and looked at John as if asking if it were alright. When he received a hesitant nod he turned back and looked at Mrs. Watson for a few moments before steepling his fingers and letting his mouth fly.

“The style of your wedding ring is about fifteen years old, but it’s obvious that you and Mr. Watson have been married for much longer than that. Now I know John is thirty-seven, and Harry is thirty-nine. The anniversaries that usually warrant a new wedding ring are twenty-five, thirty, and forty. However I can rule out fifty five years of marriage due to your age and your children’s age, so you’ve been married somewhere between forty and forty-five years. I know you didn’t simply lose it. You have all sorts of things from your children’s life still around the house, a medal John won in secondary, A paper that Harry got recommendation from a magazine, you don’t seem like the type to lose anything.”

“You were a gymnast as a child, but after breaking your wrist more than once you gave it up. It still pains you when a cold front comes in. You worry about your weight because raising five children and taking care of a husband has taken it’s toll on you but...” his eyes turned to Mr. Watson, “he still cares for you as much as the first day he laid his eyes on you.” He saw Mr. Watson give his wife a sheepish smile.

“You Mr. Watson are retired military, the source from which John gets his patriotism, but you weren’t a doctor. You also made it to Captain before you left the Army. You left not because you were invalided like your son, but because Mrs. Watson told you she was pregnant with Harry. When you returned home, you got a job as a grocery store clerk and interned with a motor company where you got a job as a mechanic until you retired four years ago. Now you spend most of your time helping Mrs. Watson with her roses and building furniture in your shop. However, was it your father or grandfather that taught you how to be a carpenter?”

Mrs. Watsons face was blank surprise, and suddenly she squealed with delight, “My goodness! How on earth? Is it always like this?” she asked John.

"Yes." John laughed, relieved that Sherlock hasn't come up with anything offensive. "I wasn't kidding, he's a right genius." His smile was a bit smug. Unlike Sherlock, John cared when people called him a fake. "Bit of a shock if you aren't expecting him to do it though," 

Johns father had been quiet, seemingly shocked by how easily Sherlock had laid out his entire adult life and for a moment his silence worried John. That was until a large grin broke across his fathers features.

“That was amazing... absolutely amazing.” He shook his head in disbelief before continuing. “It was my grandfather, by the way, but wow... Brilliant.”

“That was my reaction exactly the first time I heard him do that.” John laid his hand over Sherlocks, more comfortable than he had been since they’d arrived.

“Actually.” Harry interjected between mouthfuls, “I’m fairly certain that’s still your reaction.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly at her brother.

John flushed slightly, shooting a mock glare back at Harry, “Yeah alright, enough out of you.” 

“The praise is nice.” he said smiling at John before turning his attention back to his mother, “No one really sees it as brilliant except him. I can tend to be a bit... Oh what’s the word I’m looking for here John?” 

“Word? More like words... Overbearing, intrusive, blunt...” he nudged Sherlock playfully before explaining further. “It’s difficult for him to see the good without the bad and most people don’t take well to their faults being lied out in front of them.”

“Understandable.” Mrs. Watson said suddenly, her feathers ruffled again. “I am not bothered by my weight young man.”

“Well... There is always something.” he said, sharing a knowing smile with John. The rest of dinner went by well, with small talk and some laughter, and finally with dinner done, Sherlock offered to help with the dishes. He roped Harry into doing them with him so that John could have some time alone with his parents. Afterwards they all gathered together in the living room where Harry suggested they play Cluedo. Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

John was quick to interject. “Uh no. Anything but Cluedo.” When he received a room full of confused looks he explained. “You don’t want to play Cluedo with Sherlock. He tends to make up his own rules.” They had decided a long time ago that they would never bring that game out again. Well John had decided, Sherlock simply had no one else to play with. “Do we have any other games?”

“How’s you’re rummy?” asked Mrs. Watson. The cards were brought out and they played for a few hours, Sherlock winning all three rounds. By that time everyone had stifled a yawn or two, and Sherlock squeezed the doctor’s knee, his eyebrow raising in a silent question.

John nodded minutely in response, laying his cards down. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I think we’re ready to turn in for the night.” He stifled another yawn as he stood to peck a kiss on his mother’s cheek. 

“Thank you.” He whispered softly as he pulled away. 

Everyone was quickly saying their goodnights, cards left on the table forgotten. When John was finally able to close the door behind them he quickly strode forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, fingers lacing through his hair, to pull Sherlock’s mouth to his own. He kissed the taller man deeply before pulling away, grinning up at him. 

“They like you.” He said it simply, but the thought made it impossible for John to stop smiling.

Sherlock’s arms had gone around John’s waist instinctually, but now they pulled the doctor closer. The kiss had not been expected, but it was welcomed. Normally he could touch John as much as he wanted, but being around his family had caused him to greatly scale back the physical contact he was so used to.

“And that is important to you.” It wasn’t a question. He lowered his nose to John’s hair and simply inhaled deeply. “I have not been able to touch you much all day and it has grated on my nerves immensely.” One hand slid up the smaller man’s spine to card through his hair and cup the back of his neck. 

“Well we’re alone now.” John said softly, pressing himself against the detectives body, “Let’s see what we can do about those nerves.”

John turned away for a moment, to check that the door was locked behind them, and then his attention was back on Sherlock. Leading him back until he was pressed against the wall John began kissing Sherlock again, his fingers quickly working open the detectives shirt, nipping at his bottom lip softly. 

Sherlock almost gave in, the sensation of John’s fingers running across his skin almost too much to give up, but he’d already made his decision, and tonight had only given him more reason. Gently, he turned his face away from John’s, breaking the kiss. 

“I think I’d rather just lay together.” Sherlock said softly, not meeting John’s confused gaze. He couldn’t turn John down while looking at that face, it was simply too much. “Tired, long day tomorrow,” he swallowed thickly, relaxing when John took a tentative step backwards.

He sighed, offering him a small smile. Without another word he began undressing, leaving John absolutely bewildered. Eventually he followed suit, stripping and slipping into bed beside. 

The hands that had been so sure of themselves moments before were now almost uncertain as he tried to work out Sherlock’s reasoning. He had a nagging feeling that there was more going on in that head of his. He moved close to Sherlock, but didn’t reach out to him, almost afraid he’d be turned down again. His fears were calmed somewhat when a pair of lanky arms wrapped him around his waist and pulled him close, so that Sherlock was flush against him, back to chest, from head to toe.

“I’m just tired John,” Sherlock lied, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of John’s head. “Go to sleep.”


	17. 17 - Goodbye My Almost Lover

The next day John and Sherlock found themselves wandering about the Rose Festival. Vendors and carnival like games had been set up downtown, lining the old streets. After the short parade had ran through the town John spent a bit of time walking through the streets, pointing out different building and shops that had been a part of his childhood. John was nostalgic and happy, chattering pleasantly about the time he and his buddies were kicked out of the diner for being particularly loud and obnoxious.

Having walked most of the old part of the town John and Sherlock headed back towards the opening of the carnival. They hadn’t spent much time looking at the vendors, partially because John wasn’t sure Sherlock would enjoy the commotion surrounding them, and also because they were due to meet up with Harry and his parents anyways and he knew they would want to spend quite a bit of time walking around anyways. 

It didn’t take long for John to spot the three waiting for them. They had been moving his mothers roses from the end of the parade route to the judging area. The roses wouldn’t be judged until the following morning, but they would be out on display throughout the carnival. 

John pulled Sherlock along behind him, their hands clasped together comfortably, but the moment his mother spotted them her eyes fell to their hands and narrowed in scrutiny.

Sherlock noticed immediately, and squeezed John’s hand tightly in response. He couldn’t decide how to react to Mrs. Watson’s unhappy stare. He knew if pulled his hand away John would be upset, but continuing to hold his hand would irritate his mother. With a small sigh, he let his fingers remain laced with John’s. John’s happiness was more important to him.

When they caught up with the other three, Mrs. Watson’s irritation had not faded, and Sherlock resisted the urge to drop an affectionate kiss on top of John’s head just to spite her. Instead he smiled at them, and kindly asked if they had been enjoying their afternoon. Harry spun tales of all the good food and games they’d seen coming to meet them. John seemed focused on everything Harry was saying, but Sherlock found himself keeping a careful eye on John’s parents. 

Mrs. Watson was eyeing their clasped hands all throughout the discussion. However, Mr. Watson had eyed their hands once, crinkled his eyes, and focused on Harry. Sherlock found himself liking Mr. Watson more and more as time wore on. 

Harry suggested they start at the opening of the town square and make their way around, to which everyone agreed. The first few were artisan vendors. They stopped at a spiced nut stand, where Sherlock bought some cinnamon sugar cashews for John. However, they mostly just perused the booths until they came to a carnival game where one would throw the baseball at stacked metal milk bottles.

“What do you say boy genius?” Harry asked, “They always say these things are rigged, think you can beat it?” Sherlock looked it over and shrugged releasing John’s hand and reaching for his wallet. 

“Sherlock.” John started in a chastising tone. “You aren’t seriously going to fall for that, they really are rigged you know.” He shook his head at Sherlock’s stubborn personality as the detective continued on digging through his wallet.

“Nonsense John, anything can be beaten, and your sister has challenged me, I feel I need to prove my worth.” His eyes sparkled with mirth as he handed over the two pounds for one heavy baseball. When he turned back to the milk bottles he studied them for a few moments, eyes seeming to flicker everywhere. The small group took a collective step back as he worked. Finally he reared back and let the ball fly, hitting the stack in the weight bearing bottle causing them all to topple to the ground. 

Harry let out a shout of surprise, and Sherlock could hear Mr. Watson chuckling as a rather large stuffed hedgehog was pressed into his hands by the teenager working the booth. The detective looked down into the blue glass eyes and let a warm smile cross his face as he turned and pressed the stuffed animal into the hands of the doctor.

Leaning down he whispered in his ear, “Like those god awful romance movies you used to watch with Sarah.” 

“You’re impossible,” he muttered just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but a soft blush crept up onto his features, betraying him. Giving the stuffed animal a small squeeze John pressed up on his toes to place a chaste kiss against Sherlock’s lips. It was a small gesture, something that had become more than normal for them, but as he pulled away he saw his mother tense, her lips pressed into a familiar line. 

Harry broke the silence quickly. Eyeing the animal, and then her brother she laughed. “Oh John the resemblance is uncanny.” 

John looked back at the hedgehogs scrunched face and blue glass eyes and his brows pinched together in mock offense. His focus snapped back to Harry, his head cocked to the side, “You mean to tell me I look like a rodent? I take offense to that.”

“John, You’re expression does not lend itself to your defense.” Sherlock said, his small smile morphing into a full blown grin.

Narrowed eyes fell on Sherlock as John gave him a playful shove. “Oi! You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

Looking back at the animal in his grasp John broke into an easy grin, no longer able to suppress his laughter. The earlier tension seemed to ebb away as they started walking again. There were of course a few small jibes from Harry throughout the day about the hedgehog being their lovechild and how it obviously got its looks from John, but the evening went by without a hitch. They made their way through the vendors and by the end of the day they each had a small bag full of homemade snacks and sweets.

His did mother relaxed minutely as time went on, but her scrutinizing gaze focused on every intimate gesture the two shared. Her mind seemingly cataloging each touch for later examination. They were just discussing the idea of heading to a small restaurant for dinner when Mr. Watson spoke up. 

“Hun, why don’t you and the kids check up on the roses? Sherlock and I can go get the truck and meet you over there.” 

John bit at his bottom lip for a second, it was obvious his father was making it a point to be alone with Sherlock, and it worried him a bit that that didn’t actually scare him much at all. So, when Sherlock looked at him questioningly he nodded and shrugged his shoulders. If he’d been alone with his mother and survived there wasn’t much he couldn’t handle.

Before John could say much else his mother was bustling her two children off to the side of the carnival where the roses were all lined up neatly, her attention happily turned toward the subject of her months of effort. 

Without a word Mr. Watson began walking in the opposite direction toward the parking lot. When they were definitely out of earshot, and Sherlock had fallen into step beside him, he began speaking. His tone was light, and conversational.

“My wife told me what you said to her last night, before dinner... I sincerely hope that you mean to keep the promises you are making.” The elder Watson had a way of holding himself and speaking that was eerily like John, calm and concise, the air of a soldier. “Afghanistan changed him, as you know... I haven’t seen him this happy for a very long time, and I am to understand this is because of you. My wife may harbor ill feelings toward your relationship, but... Well we don’t see eye to eye when it comes to these sorts of things. However, I hope you understand how important it is that John not return to the dark place he was because of you.” 

There was not so much blame held in the statement as there was a threat. He seemed to saying that he understood that what had happened in the past had been necessary, but that he wouldn’t stand for it to happen again. 

Sherlock seemed a little confused at first, but after a moment he shook his head. His eyes were wide when he finally spoke, and he felt honesty was the best policy. 

"I stand by what I said to your wife, I want your son to be happy, and as long as that is with me, by his side is where I will be. But if he is no longer happy with me I will not allow him to be self sacrificing for my sake. Hurting your son is the last thing I want to do." Sherlock took a deep breath and looked directly into the older Watson's eyes.

"I have no idea why your son picked me of all people to make him happy, sometimes I think I'm more trouble than I'm worth, but he claims that its what he wants. Frankly I would stay away from him and let him find someone more deserving if I could, but, your son is hard to say no to...."

Mr. Watson shook his head and laughed, his whole demeanour suddenly much more relaxed. “Yeah he can be a bit like his mother can’t he, stubborn as all hell... That being said,” his voice became stern once more, “I believe if John finds you deserving than you are. No matter the circumstances you have been good for him... After he was shot.” the older man heaved a shaky breath, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Well you gave him his life back and I think that makes you more deserving than anyone.”

Climbing into the pickup Mr. Watson reached across to unlock the opposite door. “And try not to let my wife bother you, she really does mean well. She just doesn’t seem to realize what is actually good for our children.” Giving Sherlock an apologetic smile he started the truck and drove around to the back side of the festival. 

Sherlock felt himself flush lightly at the comments from John's father, and when they picked up the other three Watson's he quickly slid into the back seat between John and Harry. He was relatively quiet all through dinner, replying politely when spoken to, and finally when the reached the Watson home once more he politely excused himself to take a walk. 

The night was beautiful in Sussex, and he could see so many more stars here than he could back in London. He had only walked as far as the gate and leaned his arm atop one of the stone pillars before he hear footsteps behind him.

"I didn't mean to seem rude." He said, recognizing John's footsteps, "I was on a bit of an overload with the crowd and the Watson clan today..."

“I know mother can be difficult, but I really thought the day went rather well.” Harry’s teasing voice came from behind him as she jumped up to sit on top of the brick fence surrounding the yard so she was facing Sherlock. 

“I must be more overloaded than I thought to have mistaken your footsteps for Johns.” He said running a hand through his tangle of curly locks, “Well you’ve already given me the ‘you hurt my brother you’re in for a world of hurt yourself’ talk that both your parents wanted to give me. What are you out here for now?” His words were clipped, but his tone was teasing as well. He knew Harry would get the gist. 

“Truthfully?” She whispered the word as if she was sharing a delicate secret. “They can all be a bit much for me as well.” She rolled her eyes leaning back so she was staring up at the dark night sky. 

“I hate roses.” She said bluntly, eyes still scouring the starlit sky. “She still talks to me like I’m a petulant teenager, ever since the whole alcohol thing...” She tried to say the words lightly, even though they both knew she’d been severely addicted for many years. 

“Harry, saying that is like calling the three years I was gone a vacation.... You are not a petulant teenager no, but that is something that can not just blow over. Trust me I know.” His voice trailed off slowly as he turned to look at her for the first time since she’d come outside. “Addiction is not easy, and she treats you like a child because she worries about you. I’ve seen the same thing when John looks at me sometimes.” He offered her a small smile.

Her brows furrowed as she finally looked back at Sherlock, realization seeming to dawn across her features. “I had no idea... I mean John never said.” As the initial surprise slipped away she shrugged her shoulders. “Well I would have never guessed. You’re just so... proper.” She smiled at her own choice of words. “What was your poison?”

“Cocaine mostly.” he said with a chuckle at her view of him, “Some opiates, others occasionally but cocaine was the biggest.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I am surprised John didn’t tell you. It has been a, what do you say ‘elephant in the room’ since I returned from my hiatus.”

“He’s good at that... keeping private things private. Probably for the best though, it wouldn’t do for mum to find that out. You’re doing better now I assume?” She seemed to look him over, looking for any indication as to how he was doing. “You haven’t been back all that long.”

He nodded, “Only with your brother’s constant vigilance and support. Your father has said so much about how happy John has become, and how much I have helped him. No one seems to realize how much John has helped me too. At one time I would have been too proud to say, but...” His eyes were tight and full of unspoken emotion when they met hers again, “I’m not anymore.”

Harry’s features softened dramatically as Sherlock let a bit of his defenses down, allowing her to see a bit of what John saw in the insane man. “You just needed each other, that’s not a bad thing.” 

“To be honest? I feel like he would be happier with someone else. I can’t give him all the things I know he wanted when we first met. I know full well how I am, and what I do to him. I’m surprised he hasn’t gone mad yet.” He ran a hand through his tousled locks.

“Hey.” She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at her, “You are what he wants now. Don’t be so hard on yourself. For someone who is supposed to be narcissistic, you’re quite down on yourself.”

He smiled, “Maybe you’re right Harry.” He left it at that, letting his mind turn over her words. If anyone was worth trying for. It was John Watson. Perhaps he could make things work. he’d never know if he didn’t try.

Harry’s eyes shifted from Sherlock’s to the front of the house, seeing something behind the detective. “And that’s my cue to go. Thank you, for sharing that with me.” Hopping down from the top of the fence she pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, before making her way inside. 

Turning to see what had sent Harry inside so quickly Sherlock saw John making his way up the walk. She stopped him just out of earshot, a hand on his shoulder, whispering something softly. John responded just as silently and bid her goodnight before joining Sherlock.

“You alright? I know.. a lot to take in.” He leaned against the wall where Harry had been sitting minutes before. 

“Just mentally exhausted.” he said with a soft smile. His left arm wrapped around John’s hips pulling them together as he bowed his head onto the doctor’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, feeling the scent of his blogger surrounding him. He smelled of roses, his aftershave, and the mexican food they’d had for dinner. 

“You make it better.” he said, nuzzling the man’s throat, “I mistook Harry for you when she walked up. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve spent so long in the company of so many people. It was worth it, however, to see the smile it put on your face. And we obtained a love child as well, so it wasn’t a complete loss.” He knew the doctor could feel his smile as he dropped a chaste kiss against his shoulder.

“I’ve been toying with the name Hamish all day long.”

Snaking an arm around Sherlock’s waist John hid his own smile, burying his face in the soft locks. “Oh we’re naming him now are we?” 

He chuckled softly, his breathy laughter gently moving the detectives hair and tickling his nose. 

“John?” The detective’s demeanor seemed to change as he spoke, “I have a question for you. It’s one I’ve thought about... for a little while.” Sherlock tried to quell the anxiety he was feeling, but it kept crashing over him in waves as he waited for John’s response.

John pulled away a bit, one knuckle pressed beneath Sherlock’s chin, guiding his head up so he could meet his gaze. Worry was etched on his features, noticing the way Sherlock’s fingers twitched softly against his hip, giving way to just how difficult this was for him. 

“Sherlock what’s wrong?” John spoke softly, biting at his lip.

“I...” The word caught in his throat as green met blue and he cleared it rid his voice of the horrid squeak. “Something your mother said to you on the phone, it set my mind wondering, and it’s not something I can deduce. You... Do you want children?” he asked, and in a strange fit of vulnerability he continued talking, almost babbling.

“I mean you seem fairly content to keep this up, but if you want children that’s not exactly something that can happen while you are with me, and I don’t want you to... what I’m trying to say is...” He stopped when a finger pressed to his lips. He closed his eyes and cursed in his own mind, a hand coming up to scrub through his unruly curls. 

The finger against his lips slid back, a solid hand cupping the side of his face. John wanted to wipe all of the fears from Sherlock’s mind, but he couldn’t lie to him, Sherlock knew him well enough he’d see right through it. John’s lips pressed together tightly, as his thumb caressed Sherlock’s cheek reassuringly. When he finally spoke it was slow, carefully choosing his words so as not to be misunderstood. 

“I did, at one point, but that’s something I gave up on a very long time ago. Before I met you Sherlock.” His hand slipped from the side of Sherlock’s face to wrap around the back of his neck. Pulling Sherlock down slightly so that their foreheads were touching softly. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, they should have been, but the detective’s stomach still sunk a little at the words. He didn’t want John to give up his desires because of him, and even though the doctor had said he’d given up those thoughts before he’d met Sherlock, the taller man wasn’t sure how much he believed him. 

Instead of responding, he gave the doctor a reaction one would expect after hearing those words spoken by someone you cared about. He wrapped both arms around the doctor, one around his waist, the other hand cradling the back of his head, and he kissed him. It was a kiss he’d seen in countless movies over the years, one where John’s back was arched back slightly, their bodies pressed hard together, passion swirling around them almost tangibly. His breath caught in his chest as the emotions he’d been able to tamp down came whirling around him. When he pulled away a moment later, he gave the doctor a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The kiss he’d given the doctor was meant to show him how much he cared, was meant to show him how much he cherished the smaller man, but it became painful, a tight fear creeping over his chest. It felt as though it was his last chance to show John everything he couldn’t voice, an apology for everything he’d ever taken from John and, the most painful part, a possible goodbye.

Of course John had no idea, he’d known the day had been difficult for Sherlock. There had been so many people and so much going on at the fair for the detectives mind to take in John was sure he had to be physically and mentally drained. Not to mention the pressure of dealing with his family. Thinking it was what Sherlock needed, the physical connection to block out everything else, John returned the kiss just as fervently. If he noticed that something seemed off, or that Sherlock seemed particularly desperate in his actions, John simply wrote it off to the days anxieties. 

...

Everyone was up early the next day to see the judging. It was a terribly long process. By some miracle it was a hot, sunny day, something John and Sherlock did not see much of in London. The entire judging took a little over an hour as the three judges made their way around the makeshift garden, marking and scrutinizing each contestants collection on a small clipboard before moving on to the next.

Mrs. Watson watched the judges with narrowed eyes as if she might guess from their minute reactions how well her plants had fared. The sight brought a smile to John’s lips, because he was fairly certain if he asked Sherlock he could have told him the exact rankings based on the degree in which the judges eyes narrowed or how long they’d spent on each plant. 

Prizes weren’t going to be handed out for a few hours, so the group piled back into the truck, thankful to be out of the sun. Harry and Mr. Watson decided on the short drive back to the house that BBQ was in order, but it wasn’t until he went to fire it up that he realized they were out of briquets. 

“Damn it.” he muttered to himself before calling inside where John and Harry were chatting at the table, Sherlock sitting silently beside him, his fingers steepled under his chin as he listened. “John could you run into town? I need briquets.” 

“No need.” Sherlock said suddenly. He hadn’t spoken for hours and his voice sounded odd filling the silence. He needed to get away from the Watson onslaught, he needed to think, “I’ll go for you, stay and spend some time with your family without me.” He smiled softly and pressed a light kiss to the top of John’s head. 

 

He made his way outside, chatting with Mr. Watson about what exactly it was he needed before obtaining the keys and making his way into town to purchase the briquets for the barbeque. The drive to town was wonderfully silent and he let his mind calm. He refused to think about the complicated relationship issues he was having with John, and instead let his mind do simple algorithms that he used to use to put himself to sleep. It was relaxing as he stepped into the grocery.

When his mind had calmed enough, he let it wander back to the problem at hand, whether or not he needed to break things off with John. Between what Mr. Watson and Harry had said, maybe John was happy with him. He’d explained his stance on children the night before, and he saw John smile so much now. Perhaps he could work with this. Maybe attempting to continue a relationship would be good for John after all. It wasn’t working out too badly now. With a confident nod, Sherlock decided he could try.

Before he knew it, he was pulling around the bend that led to the Watson household, and the dark clouds that had rolled in above started letting out a slight sprinkling of rain. He retrieved the bags of briquets from the back of the truck quickly and made his way up the walk, feeling refreshed from the drive. Softly he opened the door and padded inside. Raised voices caught his attention as he closed the door silently.

“How do you know John? How on earth can you tell that he cares for you? You’ve said so yourself, he slips in and out of characters all the time! How do you know he’s even telling you the truth?” Sherlock took a few steps out of the entry way, and he could see that John and his mother were alone in the kitchen. The doctor’s back was to him and his mother was stirring something, her back to her son as she worked.

“Because I know him!” John’s voice was clipped, raising to match his mother’s tone. “Why can’t you understand that?” his fists clenched at his side, anger rolling off him in waves. 

Sherlock swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. They were talking about him, and he really shouldn’t be listening. He should be walking out to give John’s father the briquets, he should drop the bags and head upstairs and delete the whole thing. He just needed to leave, but something in his brain had short circuited and he couldn’t move. 

Just then Mrs. Watson turned around and she looked directly at him. She looked back at John quickly and made no other indication that she had seen him. “Well, I mean you may know him John, but you even said he’d changed once he’d come back. You love him, I know you do. But John, has he ever once told you that he loves you? I mean he’s awfully touchy. Are you sure he isn’t just in it for... you know.... the physical part? Don’t you want someone who loves you back?”

Sherlock felt like someone had shot him through the chest. It was hard to breath and he wanted to melt into the ground. How could he have been so stupid? His stomach lurched and for one frightening moment he thought he might puke.

“Is this really what you wanted from your life?” 

His hands were trembling, his legs threatened to give out on him, and his mind was reeling. Mrs. Watson said so much more to Sherlock than she was saying to John, and the detective knew in that moment that this could not go on. Neither he nor John could live like this. He had told both of his parents that if he could no longer make the doctor happy that he would leave. The selfish part of him stayed however, he wanted to hear John’s answer, he wanted to know how the older man would defend him before he walked out of his life.

“He’s.. It’s not like that.” John was practically tripping over his words trying to articulate his reasoning. “I’m happy with Sherlock. You’re right. I love the man, and sometimes I wish he was able to articulate his feelings, or be capable of loving someone wholeheartedly. But dammit I’m happy with our relationship, he gives me what he can. It’s enough for me, that’s all that bloody matters! When are you going to get over this?!”

Enough. John was settling for him, and that was a place Sherlock had promised himself he’d never let the older man be.

The sound of the briquets hitting the ground was loud and harsh in the silence before John’s mother could respond. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Sherlock’s mind kept repeating those two phrases as he saw John whip around at the noise. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t look at John any more he just had to get out, away. With a swirl of coat, he turned and was out the door, into the now pouring rain. 

The look that John shot his mother was venomous as he hurried out after Sherlock, not pausing when he heard Harry asking what happened. He found Sherlock outside the fenced yard, pocketing his phone quickly and running his hand through the already soaked hair. John grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down and forcing Sherlock to face him in one movement. 

“Sherlock!”

The detective recoiled from John’s touch, his eyes hard and sharp as he turned to face John. He hated the fear and worry he saw there, he didn’t want to see any of it lest it change his mind. He could already sense his resolve wavering as he looked at the smaller man. Looking away he felt his anger coming over him again. 

“Leave me alone John.” He said, his voice icy and harsh.

“No.” John reached for Sherlock again, stepping dangerously close as he did. “You can’t run off because my mother can’t keep her nose out of my life. I’m happy with you, that has never changed. Talk to me.” His hold on Sherlock’s wrist loosened as he searched his features for something familiar, but the detectives defences were up. Any true emotions pushed far away. 

“You can’t do this to me.” His voice came softer than it had before as he sensed Sherlock pulling away.

The detective clenched his fists tightly. He knew there was no getting out of this easily anymore. He should have backed off when he first saw the signs, he should have never started this. Now things were going horribly wrong, careening off the track, and it was all to blame on him. With a ferocious growl he whipped around grabbed the lapels of the doctor’s shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground. There was only one way to make the doctor see how hopeless this entire thing was.

“You’re happy with me?” he asked, “If you are so happy why do wish for things from me that I can’t give you? I’ve tried to give you everything, EVERYTHING that I have to offer, and still you want more? What do you want John? You want me for who I am, but you wish for things you don’t even understand.” 

He dropped the doctor, pushing him away slightly as he did, “You knew going into this what I was like... and I... I let this go on far too long. You say I can’t do this to you? You’ve done this to yourself...”

John’s breath caught in his chest at Sherlock’s words, just enough time for Sherlock to turn away again. Anger rushed through him as he followed after Sherlock, yanking him by the wrist again, much harsher than before and wheeling Sherlock so his back was to the brick wall surrounding the property. 

“I haven’t asked you for anything.” His voice was shaky, betraying the fear behind his anger. After everything they had been through, all the times he’d been sure they wouldn’t make it, Sherlock was finally done with him. “So don’t you dare say I did this to myself. I love you. I have for a long time and in your own twisted way you love me in the only way you know how. So no. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not because my mother can’t keep her mouth shut.”

His hands had twisted their way into the fabric of Sherlock’s coat, pushing him back against the brick wall so they were mere inches apart. John knew a few silent tears were slipping down his face, but the rain hid any evidence of this fact. 

“If you walk away from us don’t you dare blame it on me.” John’s voice was an angry growl at this. 

“You’re right John. I shouldn’t blame this on you.” His eyes were hard as he leaned forward, their teeth practically gnashing at each other. John didn’t want to let him go, so he’d have to make him. He knew the words that would make everything crumble. Mustering every ounce of anger he could he forced them out. “Because this experiment has been over for just over a month, and I shouldn’t have kept it going as long as I have. I suppose I wanted to feel important for something other than my intellect for once. But I see now that this was all a grave mistake.” 

Looking at John was making it hard to think, hard to stay vigilant. He had to end this now. The hurt he saw in John’s face was making his icy expression difficultto hold. Pulling him closer, he spat the words right in his face. “I’m leaving because you love me, and I can’t love you back. I never will.” 

With that he shoved the smaller man away from him just as a cab pulled up. He used the shock and hurt he knew was roiling through John’s mind to escape from his gaze. He realized as the cab started turning down the lane that he’d left his suitcase behind. No matter, he could always get more clothing. The detective made a point not to watch the figure standing there in the rain watching him go, but he knew it was there all the same. Clenching a fist against his lips, a silent tear rolled down his sharp cheekbone as he took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves.

What had he done?

...

Sherlock had really left.

John stood in shock for a moment as the cab drove off. Sherlock had walked outside and called a cab before they’d even spoken. He was done. John’s composure finally broke. One hand cupping over his jaw as a belated sob wracked through his body. Leaning against the wall John slipped to his knees, his chest clenching dangerously. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d watched the empty road before he felt the rain pouring down on him let up and a small hand grip his shoulder. 

Harry was standing over him with an umbrella, and a fresh painful sob was pulled from his chest at the pity he saw in her eyes. 

“Come on dear, let’s get you inside. and dried up.” She attempted to lift him by the arm, and ended up successfully pulling him to lean on her as she led him inside, “Just a lover’s quarrel.” She tried to assure him, “Clara and I had them all the time.” Belatedly she realized that might not be the best thing for her to offer since she and Clara had been divorced for a while now. 

Sometime between the road and the house John managed to find his composure, Sherlock’s last words rolling through his mind. Experiment. No. John thought to himself, there was no way it had all been an experiment, he’d never believe that. “You didn’t hear him...” John argued, stopping just outside the door where the porch protected them from the rain. “God Harry... I have to go after him.” 

He moved to pull his phone from his pocket, only to have a hand quickly cover his own, slipping the phone from his grasp. His eyes shot to Harry’s in question. “I can’t just let him leave, not like this.” 

“John, he’s angry and hurt. Look at it from his point of view. He wants so desperately to please you, to make you happy. From what mom told me he heard you say that you wish he could do the one thing he doesn’t know how to do. Now I’m not saying you are wrong John, but hearing the person you care about say that they wish more from you? John he’s hurt, give him time to calm down....” She offered him a small smile before pocketing his phone and brushing her hand over his hair affectionately. 

“Everything will be alright.”

John shook his head before glaring back at the front door with disdain. The last thing he wanted to do was face his mother again, he was sure she would be quick to rub in how easily Sherlock had walked away from him. A part of John couldn’t help but think she’d done it all on purpose, she had been facing the doorway, she had to have seen Sherlock standing there. 

“What’d she tell you?” John asked shortly.

Harry explained what their mother had told them, it had appeared she had seen Sherlock in the doorway, and she had gloated to Harry about how quickly Sherlock had run away. After talking quietly for a few moments, the older Watson promised to give his excuses to their mother so he could slip off to his room. 

“I’ll return your phone in the morning. If he calls I promise to bring it to you.” She smiled softly, kissing him on the cheek before bidding him good night.

There was no chance that he would fall asleep of course, not anytime soon at least. Locking the door, not wanting to deal with anyone else, John collapsed on the bed. His eyes locked on the ceiling willing himself to keep it together as one hand groped about the bed until his hand found purchase on the stuffed animal he'd thrown to the side the night before. 

Pulling the hedgehog to his chest John clutched it unabashedly, emotions washing over him. He wasn't ready to believe they were over. For a long time he lay there, Hamish tucked under his arm, slowly calming himself with the thought that he would see Sherlock in the morning. He'd take the first train out and set things right the moment he got home.   
…

The next morning John was up, bags packed, before the sun had rose. He almost left without so much of a word to his mother, but at Harry's insistence he bid her a short goodbye. 

The train ride home was far too long for Johns liking, but eventually he was in a cab and on his way back to the flat. He felt sick to his stomach, and despite the fact that he’d thought of little else since Sherlock had left the night before John had no idea what he was going to say to Sherlock to change his mind. The cabbie pulled up to 221B and John paid him off, collecting both their bags and hurrying to the door. When he made it up the steps he found the door to their sitting room left open marginally, just enough that he didn’t have to turn the knob. Pushing the door open John gasped, the bags falling to his feet with a thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you guys have it. A three chapter post. You know we couldn't let you have it without a cliffhanger! 
> 
> But guys...... GUYS!!! 
> 
> This story is almost over!!!! You have three more chapters and an epilogue and then the whole A Bit Not Good Series is over! Thank you all for reading thus far. We are so happy you guys enjoyed the story! We love hearing all you have to say and know that even comments we recieve months or years from now.... We will love them ALL!
> 
> It's been such a wonderful adventure! Shell does most of the posting, and this is actually Devo: (Shell has a headache :( ) but I haven't really had a chance to tell you guys how much I love you all! So I'm saying it now!
> 
> Don't forget to check us out for more stuff from us individually: 
> 
> Shellysbees on tumblr and twitter
> 
> DevoKitsune on tumblr
> 
> HIT US UP!


	18. Let Him Go

Everything was gone. The once cluttered sitting room was stripped clean of everything, save for the union jack pillow. Slowly he stepped into the empty room, shock crashing over him. The kitchen was spotless, every trace of Sherlock’s experiments wiped clean. It was all wrong. All the furniture was gone, and a few boxes were stacked in the corner the corner neatly labeled. John’s things. 

John sank to the floor to grab the worn pillow, clutching it to his chest like a life vest, because that’s what it was. John had had nothing before he met Sherlock, no home, no life, and now Sherlock had left, taking everything with him. 

Before he could think of anything else John pulled out his phone, tears slowly working their way out. He typed a short message and pressed send before dropping his face into the familiar pillow. John didn’t know why he’d left it. The pillow had been Sherlock’s as well. Breathing deeply he could smell a faint hint of tobacco and he lost any ounce of willpower as he sat on the floor of his now empty flat, openly sobbing into the pillow.

Come home. JW  
...

Sherlock had gone to the one place he thought he’d be safe. His brother had answered the door, taken one look at him and after figuring out what had happened, called in his moving team immediately. Greg had been over with his children, and until they went to bed, he was blissfully alone. He lay on the bed, still in his rain soaked clothes, in his thinking pose until a knock on his door received a wary bid for entrance.

Lestrade stepped inside, shifting from foot to foot as he looked at the obviously distraught detective. “Mycroft sent me to fetch you.” 

“Unnecessary. I won’t be coming down for dinner as he wants.” His voice was calm and even, the voice the DI had heard before when he was trying to conceal his drug habits on a case. 

“Sherlock we just want to know what happened, we want to make sure you’re alright.”

“You mean you two want to pry into my private life?”

“Damnit Sherlock! We just care about you alright? We want to make sure you’re okay. We’re not trying to pry we’re trying to help!” Finally the lanky detective looked over and the distraught he saw in those normally cold green eyes made him sigh defeatedly.

“Alright. I will come down.” 

Within a few moments the two older men sat on a couch facing the younger as he regaled the story of the entire weekend for them clinically, from John’s worry that afternoon to leaving him in the rain before coming here. 

“So you just ran away?” Came the DI’s question. Mycroft had been in thoughtful silence throughout the entire ordeal, “You just picked up and ran away because you’re afraid John isn’t happy? You obviously haven’t been looking at him mate. He’s been happier than I’ve ever seen him, even since before you decided to take a swan dive off of Barts.”

“I do not need relationship advice from someone who has been married, divorced, and is now taking it from my brother.”

“Sherlock!” When Mycroft finally spoke it was harsh and angry. He glared at Sherlock a moment before leaning forward onto his knees. His features gave away nothing as he berated his brother. “I am afraid you have made a grave mistake. You and Doctor Watson needed each other. You know full well how deep the man fell while you were away and yet you still chose to leave him. Why? Because you’re ego was hurt by his mother? Because you are so emotionally inexperienced that you don’t see that the you do in fact love John Watson? Or because you're afraid to admit that you may be emotionally compromised?”

“You are an idiot. I was willing to help you when I was unaware just how insane you were being. Now that I know you were simply running like a child, I do expect that you waste no time in fixing this. As for the time being, you will not insult Greg and you will behave in front of his children or you can leave immediately.” His gaze was icy as he leaned back against the couch, then looking over Sherlock carefully, his idle fingers twitching ever so slightly he added, “And if you start using I will send you back to rehab. I know your demons brother, and I know John Watson has been your drug of choice as of late. Do not consider falling back into bad habits.”

"I chose to leave because it was the most logical thing for me to do. He will be hurt much less now than if something were to happen at a later date." His voice was almost as calm and cold as his brother's, "And how dare you chastise me brother when you were the one that drilled it into my very being that sentiment is weakness? There is no need to throw me out. I will leave willingly. I neither need nor want your advice on the matter."

He stood to leave but Greg stood as well, stopping him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't leave just... Just take some time and think about what you're doing to him and to yourself yeah? You aren't showing it, but you're hurting too..."

"I refuse to be a part of this good cop bad cop routine." He said petulantly, but Greg noticed he went upstairs instead of leaving. He looked back to Mycroft and let out a small sigh.

“We’ll give him a few days.” Mycroft said softly, the icy demeanor swept away now that it was just him and Greg. Standing to move behind the DI, his arm slipping around his waist. “If he doesn’t fix things on his own, then we’ll step in.”

...

The next morning Mycroft called Harry. She hurried home to find John bumbling around the almost empty flat with his phone clutched in one hand, the Union Jack pillow in another. It wasn’t until later that day, after she’d moved John and a few of his things back to her flat, that she called Mycroft back. 

“This is ridiculous. I know John has tried calling him. Why isn’t your brother answering?” She’d already spent the better part of a half hour recounting her own version of the story, including the fact that her mother had purposefully goaded John, knowing Sherlock was listening. 

“He has convinced himself that this is best.” Mycroft explained.

“Best?” Harry spat, a little too loudly. She lowered her voice, not wanting John to know she was talking with Mycroft. “Who exactly is this supposed to be ‘best’ for?”

“For John. I didn’t say I agreed with him, that is just what Sherlock has convinced himself.”

 

“And we’re just supposed to let this happen?”

 

“For the time being, yes. They both have feelings to work through. Particularly Sherlock.”

The line fell silent for a few moments. 

“I hope to God you’re right.” Harry said finally, her tone softer than before. 

“Me too.”

...

Greg knocked on the door of Harry Watson’s flat feeling anxious already. She opened the door and smiled warmly at him. 

“Good evening Detective Inspector.” She said with a small smile. He noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“That bad yeah?” he asked. Of course it was bad. He knew how much John loved Sherlock, even the nasty git that he was. He knew this had been unexpected and so out of left field to John that it would drive anyone mad. Not to mention the other half of this problem had been living in the spare room at Mycroft’s, which meant he knew that the two had had no contact since Sherlock moved out.

“He hasn’t been to the surgery in days. Most of the time he just sits on the bed, clutching that god awful stuffed animal, or the pillow, whatever’s closest when he sits down. He’s hardly eaten at all.” She sounded really worried, “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen him this bad, not even when the man was dead. What’s going on?”

“A stupid git trying to be a martyr for him. Let me talk to him?”

“If you think it’ll do any good.” The woman didn’t sound hopeful. Leading him to a plain door, she knocked softly and opened it enough to stick her head in, “John, you have a visitor.”

When no response came, she opened the door, and let the DI in, closing the door with a soft click behind him. Greg almost turned around and walked back out. John looked awful. He was a little thinner than the last time the DI had seen him, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. He was sitting on the bed, staring out the window, a plush hedgehog wedged under his chin, arms wrapped tightly around it.

“John?” He asked softly, as if trying not to frighten a caged animal, “John you look god awful, tell me what’s going on?”

John’s attention quickly snapped to Lestrade, as if he hadn’t quite noticed the detective inspector until that moment. His brows furrowed for a moment, confused, but as realization spread over him and his features relaxed. 

“Have you heard from him?” John’s voice was clear and concise, not quite what Lestrade had been expecting to hear from looking at the destroyed man. “I’ve tried texting and calling him, but he won’t answer, it’s no use. Have you seen or heard from him?” 

The hedgehog stayed tucked tightly against his chest as he spoke, as if John had almost forgotten that it was even there. He was at his breaking point, and somehow, letting go of the stuffed animal meant letting go completely. He couldn’t do that. John had to believe that they could fix this.

"Both." He said miserably. He didn't want to lie to the doctor, but he also didn't want to have to tell him no when he asked to see the detective, "He's petulant as ever, pissed Mycroft off a time or two, and the kids are getting on his nerves..." He trailed off not quite knowing what to say.

"I didn't come to talk about him though. I came to talk about you."

John tensed again, tucking his chin against the stuffed animal in his arms. The last thing he wanted to talk about was himself, and he was quickly shutting down again. His gaze fell away from Greg’s as he processed everything that the man had said. He had seen Sherlock, from the sounds of it he was staying with Greg and Mycroft, so he was still in London, he hadn’t completely run off. Somehow that in itself was a bit of relief. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” John clipped, now refusing to look at the eyes boring into him from across the room. 

Greg stayed for a little while longer, but after a few more failed attempts at conversation he gave up. John let out a shaky breath as the door snapped close behind Greg. He wasn't sure if he felt better or worse when he was alone. He was being, for lack of a better term, an idiot.

They’d broken up. Couples broke up every day, and despite the fact that he knew that he should be able to move on he couldn't. He was ridiculously dependent upon their relationship, he always had been. For as long as he'd known Sherlock he's found himself entrapped. Clinging to the end of a comet that was just a little too bright. It had been one thing when he'd thought Sherlock was dead. That has left him with a memory, something to still believe in, but this left them with nothing. It was like he'd just come home again, only this time he knew what he was missing and that it was still out there. 

...

 

The second week after he’d come to live with his brother, Sherlock stalked into his room, intent on taking a shower, when he found a small girl lying on her stomach on his bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

“I’m writing poetry.” was the teenager’s reply, “Your room is dark and brooding, it’s the best place for inspiration.” 

“Poetry. What kind?” he asked, trying hard to bite his tongue.

“Love poetry.” Sherlock tried not to blanch, but failed, “Not like that kind of love poetry. Dark love poetry, like vampires and the renaissance...”

“Victoria. That’s not love, that’s nonsense...” he said. He was just all around angry, mostly at her for being in his room, but for her jaded attempt at art. Wanting to teach her a lesson, he remembered something he’d kept, that he still never let leave his side.

“This...” he said reaching into his breast pocket, “This is love.” He tossed down a folded piece of paper that she quickly snatched up and read. When she lowered it, she looked up at him once more. 

“This is the man papa talks about isn’t it? The one you loved that you left.”

“The one I protected.” Sherlock corrected, his tone dark, but controlled, “Now get out of my room.” The young girl looked up once like she was going to argue, but seeing the look on his face she decided better. Sherlock escorted her to the door before moving on to his shower. However, what had started out as an activity to calm his overactive mind about John, only made him think of him more, what with the letter. There in the privacy of his shower, he wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

“You did the right thing...” he mumbled to himself.

Early the next morning, a sudden crash, from the sounds of it a mug hitting the wall of his office, pulled Mycroft from his sleep an hour and seventeen minutes earlier than he’d intended to wake. Letting out an exasperated sigh he slipped from the bed, thankful Greg was such a deep sleeper. When he pushed open the door to his office Mycroft stopped, staring almost pitifully at the man behind his desk.

“This is getting out of hand.” 

He walked slowly, each step ringing out in the silence of the room, until he was behind Sherlock. His lips pursed as he saw CCTV channels layered over each other. The surgery, Baker Street, and Harry’s flat all running at the highest speed. John had finally returned to work after a week off, but the rest of his time had been spent at Harry’s. He’d yet to return to Baker Street despite the fact that most of his things were still there.

 

“Had you asked I would have told you his whereabouts.” Mycroft spoke plainly, not making any move to pull Sherlock away from the recordings. 

The detectives shoulders were hunched, his eyes barely a visible glitter under his mop of curls. His eyes were red and puffy showing he'd spent the better part of an hour trying not to cry.

"He's not doing well." Sherlock stated the obvious and paused the CCTV feed of Harry's home, in one window he could see the outline of John staring listlessly into the sky, clutching something fluffy and brown.

"Why does he keep that? Doesn't it hurt?" The detective sounded very young all of a sudden, almost childlike, and in that moment Mycroft realized just how naive Sherlock really was.

“Of course it hurts.” He pulled one of the chairs in front of his desk to the side so he could still see the monitor as he spoke. “Did you really think if you walked away from him he’d simply move on with his life?”

Mycroft shook his head and took a deep breath before pressing forward. “He keeps it because it’s the only thing you left him with. You won’t talk to him, you won’t see him, so he’s clinging to the only piece of you that he has.”

"Why?" The one word sounded so miserable and angry that it even surprised the detective. "What do I have to offer him Mycroft? Danger? Putting up with me? I have done so much, put him through so much hurt... Why wont he just let me go?" His voice wavered and he burrowed his eyes in his arms, the skin on his neck flushed with embarrassment at showing this kind of emotion in front of his brother.

It took a few moments for Mycroft to respond, trying to articulate the answer to the question in a way that Sherlock would understand. He didn’t want to chide the detective for his inability to comprehend the emotions obviously coursing through him. 

“Why are you watching CCTV recordings in the middle of the night? Can you really walk away and let him go so easily?” 

"I-" the detective didn't know how to answer that. He thought for a long moment before answering. "I have to. This is... This is how it has to be. I couldn't bare it if he left me... I couldn't take that again. So many people Mycroft, you know better than anyone. And he is so much more than any of them. It was inevitable. I am saving us both pain." He heaved a sigh. It was hard to imagine a pain more than what he was feeling now. All the torture he'd endured didn't even surmount to the tendrils of depression and utter ache that had filled his body since he'd taken that cab back to London.

"I can't.... I can't walk away completely, but this... Will be enough."

“That’s cowardly brother.”Mycroft's statement snapped Sherlock from his reverie, but his expression didn’t hold the same bitterness that his harsh tone had.

"John is the brave one, not I." 

“So you’ll put him through the same pain you’re so desperately trying to avoid? By being the one that leaves him?” Mycroft shook his head, standing and moving to leave the study. “Maybe it was for the best then. John would have never left you... No... It’s your own fear that destroyed your relationship.”

Mycroft stood on the other side of the desk for a moment, hoping to draw a rise from his younger brother, because that was always his last resort with Sherlock. To bait him into proving himself. 

"How could you possibly know he would never leave?" 

“It’s no mystery that he loved you, but of course that doesn’t necessarily keep people from leaving or falling out of love. John isn’t other people though is he? He waited three years for you to return, even when the whole of London was against him he still stood by your memory. He never gave up on you and when you returned he was the one that truly brought you back. When you first came back to London... You weren’t really here were you? So strung out on drugs you could barely function, but you saved each other again. And then of course there is the fact that it is because of you that he doesn’t see that dreaded psychiatrist any more. You think you have nothing to offer him. John Watson needs you just as much as you need him.” 

The statements and accusations fell quickly from Mycroft’s lips, much like Sherlock’s own deductions, but of course Sherlock would have never seen things this way on his own. His deductions were constricted by his own understanding of relationships and emotions in a way that Mycroft’s were not.

A curly head lifted from the table and Sherlock's eyes were glassy and red rimmed, his face screwed up in an expression of pain and anger.

"You are listing only the good. Do you know what it's like to watch the most important person in your life be branded right before your eyes? He was kidnapped, put through god knows what because of me. Because I cared about him. He broke his own finger.... I..." The detective shook his head curls falling over his eyes.

“You asked how I knew he wouldn’t leave. I only listed the good because you and I both know that is all John sees when he looks at you. Could you ever believe, even for a moment, that John blames you for any of that?” Mycroft’s voice softened and he rested one hand on the edge of the desk, leaning forward slightly.

"If he doesn't he should." Came the soft reply, "God knows I do." With that he stood and moved away from the CCTV recordings and headed towards the door, however, he stopped with one hand on the jamb, head turned so his voice would carry over his shoulder.

"How am I supposed to believe I can love anyone when I know nothing but hatred for myself?" And with that he stalked off towards the staircase. 

As Sherlock’s footsteps faded away Mycroft walked around the desk to look back at the CCTV screens still open. Sherlock had been fast forwarding through the past week, but the tapes had finally caught up with the live feed and had slowed to real time. John was pacing the small room, Mycroft could see his form each time he walked back towards the bed. Grabbing for something out of the view of the window Mycroft witness what he was sure was something off the end table being violently thrown against the opposite wall in frustration. 

A sad smile pulled at one side of his lips. Even through all their differences the two could be frighteningly similar. 

Turning off the computer he went back to his room, gently rousing Greg. When his sleepy mumbles became coherent enough that Mycroft was sure he was listening he spoke.

“I do believe it’s time for us to step in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! The rest of the chapters will be up tomorrow before the new season airs! 
> 
> LET US KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!
> 
> We love you so much <3
> 
> \- DevoKitsune


	19. Just Give Me a Reason

It didn’t take long for Greg and Mycroft to devise a plan, thankfully Sherlock’s own embarrassment kept him in his room for most of the day which allowed the two to formulate their plan without the detectives knowing eyes. They needed to call in a bit of help to finish the plan. A quick call to Harry told them that John was quickly moving on from his silent breakdown to angry brooding. Greg wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but it didn’t slow their plan down at all. 

Another call to Molly ensured the last bit of their plan. Situating themselves on the sofa in the sitting room with Greg’s kids they both pretended to be interested in the movie his youngest has picked out. Sure enough, about twenty minutes later they heard Sherlock’s door crash open, the detective almost jumping down the stairs, two at a time. 

He popped his head into the room, curly hair a disheveled mess, dark circles under his red eyes.

"I'll be out for a bit, I wouldn't touch the Petri dishes I left in the bathroom. Don't wait up." He called as he skittered for the door.

When the front door closed behind the detective with a snap the pair exchanged a loaded look. If this didn’t work they probably wouldn’t have another chance to push them back together. Greg’s hand found Mycroft’s, squeezing it reassuringly. No matter how cold he could be towards Sherlock Greg knew he was worried for his brother.

"It will be fine." The DI said leaning towards his better half, "Sherlock is stubborn, but I don't think he's that stubborn."

"Papa Croft?" Kiley, Greg's youngest crawled up and planted herself very firmly on the elder Holmes' lap, "is unca' Sherly going to be okay?" 

Greg blanched and tried not to laugh at the girls name for Sherlock. He had never told her to call him that, but his continuous presence at Mycroft's estate had cause the children to start calling him Uncle. The DI smiled softly and made a 'go on' gesture when the man looked at him a little helplessly.

Mycroft absolutely loved that Greg’s children were just as open and loving as their father. It was something him and Sherlock had never experienced as children, and every time one of the girls called him Papa Croft a ridiculous smile found its way to his features. The fact that they had adopted Sherlock as a part of their family just as easily invoked emotions Mycroft had barely been aware he had. 

“Of course he will,” he smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before ruffling her blonde hair. “He just misses someone special, but he’s going to see them now.” He offered her a soft smile before tugging the little girl to sit between him and Greg. 

...

When John’s phone began ringing he had the overwhelming desire to throw the device across the room. It wasn’t Sherlock, so it was utterly useless. Out of curiosity he glanced down at the screen only to see Molly’s name flashing across the screen. He relaxed a bit letting out a defeated sigh. Molly hadn’t done anything wrong, so with a little less resentment than he’d originally felt he answered the phone. 

“Hello Molly.” He desperately hoped someone had filled Molly in on the situation and she wasn’t calling him to collect Sherlock.

“Hi John.” her voice was a bit shaky, as if she was nervous but she kept talking quickly, all in one breath. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

John was a bit surprised, his and Molly’s friendship revolved around Sherlock, they’d never really associated on their own, but of course John’s chivalry wouldn’t let him deny her. “Yeah of course, everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just.. My normal assistant called in and I have a few bodies here that I need to autopsy. I was wondering if you might be free to help me."

“Of course.” He wasn’t particularly excited about going and spending time in the morgue, the only time he’s spent there had been with Sherlock, but he couldn’t tell her no after everything she’d done for them. “Not exactly my field of medicine but I can lend you a hand.”

“Really? Great, thank you so much John.” She seemed to relax immediately. “Go ahead and head down to the morgue whenever you can.”

“I’ll be right over. Ta.” 

He ended the call, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before pushing himself to his feet and heading down stairs. He paused at the door as he slipped on his coat to call back to Harry, he wasn’t sure where she was, but he hadn’t heard her leave today.

“I’m heading out. I’ll see you later tonight.”

He was out the door and hailing a cab before Harry had a chance to respond. Her head popped around the wall leading to the kitchen, a wry smile on her face as she pulled out her phone to text Greg. 

He just left. Fingers crossed. 

...

Molly ran to the front of the building hoping the guard hadn’t let Sherlock through yet. She’d left John in the morgue under the pretense of going to get them both coffee before they started on the bodies, and instead she was collecting Sherlock. 

The call from Greg had come as a surprise, she hadn’t even known the couple had split up, but when he explained the plan him and Mycroft had worked up she quickly agreed. The last time she’d seen them together they might as well have been newlyweds for how close they were, and it tugged at her heart that something had happened to tear them apart. She was determined to do anything in her power to bring them back together. 

Seeing that the security guard hadn’t in fact let Sherlock in made her breathe a sigh of relief. She took a visitors pass and clipped it on the lapel of his belstaff before leading him towards the morgue.

“When I saw this man’s thumb, I knew I had to show it to you. I knew you’d be thrilled to see it too.” She smiled warmly, but inwardly she was worried. Sherlock looked sick, and he smelled horribly of cigarettes. He nodded solemnly but didn’t offer a word. 

A few feet away from the door, she suddenly stopped, “Oh! I’ve forgotten.. something, go on in, he’s in slide number seven, I’ll be right back.” She smiled as he headed inside without question.

When Sherlock stepped inside he was watching the floor. However when the door clicked shut behind him and he looked up to see a familiar stocky figure leaning against Molly’s desk he froze. For one moment Sherlock’s mind was frighteningly blank, but it kicked into gear quickly and he turned on his heel, striding back the way he had come. When he reached the door, he saw Molly had just finished locking it. She offered an apology at his angry expression.

“I’m sorry. Talk to him, I can’t let you out until you do.” 

“I will break this door down.” he growled softly, his emotions roiling in his stomach. Molly only replied by sliding a piece of steel through the door handles.

“Talk to him. You two need it.” Sherlock let out a growl of anger and stalked away, back into the main room. He’d get this over with by being as rude and horrible as possible, and John would be begging Molly to let them go. Then this would be over with for good. 

John had realized what was happening the moment he saw Sherlock stride into the morgue without Molly. He watched Sherlock throw his fit at her before the detective turned his attention back to John. He was angry with Sherlock. The man had walked away from their relationship, moved out without any sort of closure, and couldn’t seem to understand why everyone around them knew this was wrong.

His jaw set tightly, but the anger quickly began ebbing away as he finally got a good look at Sherlock. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days. His hair was particularly unruly, and the dark circles around his eyes betrayed just how upset Sherlock was. 

“This isn’t her fault Sherlock.” He spoke softly, not moving from his position against the desk. “She’s right, we need to talk.” Even John was surprised by how calm his voice was.

"Fine," the detective snapped irritably, "Talk."

“Why did you leave?” John had to focus to keep his calm demeanour.

The detective snorted, "You're wasting your time asking questions you already know the answer to."

John’s facade finally broke at that. “No. Sherlock. I really don’t. We’re both miserable. And don’t try and say you aren’t because you look like fucking hell. Dammit Sherlock!” His fist came down on the desk harshly as he pushed off of it, taking a step closer so there was only a foot of space between them. “Give me one good reason to walk away. Not that bull shit about giving me what I want. I want you and whatever you have to offer, that’s it. God. Just fucking talk to me!” 

His fists were clenched tightly at his side. All of his emotions for Sherlock were being amplified by his own anger.

Sherlock's anger flared and he lost the brittle grip he'd maintained on his emotions. Grabbing the smaller man's left arm with a bruising force, he wrenched it forward and shoved the loose sleeve of his jumper all the way past the curve of his shoulder. He wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the scarred flesh that still bore a pale white stylized 'S'.

"This is why! You should have run screaming from me days after you met me, like everyone else in my god forsaken life. You didn't though, you were different, you stayed....” His voice had softened, as if that one fact was a blessing and a curse all at once. “But John this should have been the turning point. You almost died because of me. You were marked for the rest of your life, simply because I was in it! But you stayed! For what John?! FOR WHAT?!?" 

He had grown more agitated the longer he spoke and now he thrust the doctor's arm away from him, turning and throwing the first thing he could reach, a cup of cotton swabs, against the wall. He stood there breathing hard, his back to the doctor as the metal container clanked to the floor and cotton swabs rolled away. It was not nearly as satisfying as he had wanted it to be.

John was frozen for a moment, Sherlock’s words echoing through his mind. His arm tingled slightly where Sherlock had gripped the healed scar. He’d seen Sherlock look at it before, with a mingled look of pain and self-loathing, but up until now John hadn’t fully understood how gravely it affected Sherlock. 

Stepping forward, more slowly, John licked his lips nervously. He reached for the neckline of his jumper, letting the stretched sleeve fall back down his arm as he moved, he pulled the collar of his jumper away, revealing the smaller starburst where the bullet had ripped through his skin. 

He stood there, silent, waiting for Sherlock turn around and look at him, and when he did and he saw the green eyes widen slightly he spoke. 

“If I was given the choice, I would go through every terrible thing that has happened in my life if it meant I ended up with you. You can’t let the scars stop you from moving forward, then they win.”

"No, no! John.." He took the few steps forward, gripping John's warm skin with cold fingers, shaking him by the arms as if he could shake his reasoning into him, "Listen to what you're saying dammit! You weren't suppose to fall in love with me. I can't give any of that back. I can't love you, I can't feel the way you feel. And don't you dare tell me it's enough!"

He released John's arms and backed away. "You and I are so different, you should have someone who can tell you they love you, someone you can have a family with John. You've been on the battlefield for too long.. It's time for you to finally have some peace. That doesn't happen with me..."

John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, forcing him to step closer. He could sense how tense Sherlock was, and saw how he refused to meet his gaze. “I can’t do the civilian life, you know that. If you walk out of here today and I never see you again you know I’ll have to find other ways.” His hand came up to cup the side of Sherlock’s face, catching him by surprise to stop him from arguing. 

“You’re right, you can’t return my love, but I’m fine with that because you give me so much more. Normal people are able to love anyone they are close to.. but you.. You’re emotions are so precious. Having your trust, having you care more about my well being more than your own... You are so careful about who you bare your soul to, and it means more than you could know.”

His thumb traced along the detectives cheek bone softly, a small smile playing at his lips as he spoke. “I love you Sherlock, that has never changed.” John let his hand fall away, taking half a step back to let Sherlock process what he’d said.

It was obvious Sherlock was starting to break down, and when he finally spoke his voice was small and childish, "How can you love something that is so broken?" His voice wavered at the end and he turned away, his curls shadowing his eyes.

Shaking his head sadly John tentatively reached forward, just taking Sherlock’s fingers in his hand softly, trying to bring the detective back to the moment. He couldn’t have him pull away again. 

“Oh love... You aren’t broken.” John softly squeezed Sherlock’s hand, “Neither of us are, just a bit bent. But we can figure this out, just as long as you don’t walk away. Walking away is what breaks us.”

Sherlock couldn't look up, but the warm hand on his fingers made him want to give in. He wanted so desperately to believe John, wanted to melt around him, embrace the small rock of strength John had become in his life, but something held him back. 

His free hand lifted and curled over scar that had caused so much disdain in his heart over the past months, and finally he let the truth of it all fall from his lips.

"John... I can't... I look at you and every time I see this I hate myself more. I think of what happened and I feel so selfish for keeping you with me. I feel horrible for keeping you by my side for the simple reason that it feels good and right I-" his voice cracked and a small tremor of emotion rippled through his shoulders, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, "I am so much like my father, how can you not see-?"

“No. Stop this.” John’s voice was sharp, cutting Sherlock short. 

John stepped closer to Sherlock, resting his forehead against the taller man's shoulder.His breath was shaky and John was honestly scared. He couldn’t lose Sherlock, and they were so close to the edge.

“He isn’t your father Sherlock. He’s a bloody sperm donor, that’s all and you are nothing like him. You’re brilliant, and no matter what you say you are ultimately good. You could have been like him, but you aren’t. You are everything he wasn’t. And.. and I want to be by your side, so if you’re being selfish.. well at least we both are.” 

His other hand pulled Sherlock closer, slipping inside his coat so he could grip his hip gently. 

Somehow that simple gesture, that possessive hand on his hip made the reality of it all come crashing down. John wanted him, John wanted to stay by his side and he'd been a prat and mucked it all up. The praise and the words of encouragement were so foreign that he felt tears prick the back of his eyes. All the months of agonizing worry, all the secrets, poured out of him as his arms finally circled John's shoulders squeezing them tight as if he never wanted to let go.

Choking back a soft and pained noise, he pressed his nose into the doctor's hair, inhaling all the warmth and comfort that had been painfully absent from his life for the past few weeks. He attempted a chuckle to cover up his moment of vulnerability, "At least you had Hamish to keep you company. I had Mycroft and Lestrade's children.... Apparently I am now Uncle Sherly. I dare to imagine what creative name they will give to you..."

He squeezed the doctor tighter before moving back a little so that he could meet John's gaze. He knew his face flushed, he could feel the heat of it in his cheeks, and he was sure he looked horrid at the moment but he smiled slightly, his thumb coming up to caress John's cheek, "I- I shouldn’t have... I didn't...-" Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that always came to mind when he had missed the target on some social nicety or another.

"Not good?" It wasn't so much of a question as it was an apology, a plea for them to be alright, a need to know that John forgave him for being a complete and totally arse.

“A bit.” John said softly, leaning into the caress across his cheek. It was the response they’d grown used to over the years. John’s gentle way of reminding him to behave in a way that wasn’t judging. He accepted Sherlock and all his idiocracies and it didn’t bother him when he did things that were a bit not good. He was truly Sherlock’s other half in that respect, his voice of reason. 

The words hung between them for barely a moment before John smiled widely, pressing up on his toes to bring his lips to Sherlock’s. His arms quickly wrapping round Sherlock’s shoulders, all of the emotion from the past few weeks spilling out in a passionate kiss.

John was so entranced by the man in his arms he didn’t notice when the door of the lab clicked open.

Sherlock's hands fell to the doctor's hips as their lips crashed together. He kissed the smaller man with as much fervor as he could, and he either didn't notice or didn't care when the door opened.

Suddenly a throat cleared, and Sherlock managed to pull himself away from John and look round to find Molly, her cheeks a bit flushed, standing there and grinning from ear to ear. 

"I see you two have made up then. I suppose you have better places to be than here in the morgue with us stiffs." Her smile was warm as she looked on at them, truly happy they had made amends.

Sherlock turned back to look at John, one brow rising only to be lost among his curly locks, "I agree." He said, one arm slipping around John's waist, "and I know just the place."

John chuckled, a blush rising to his cheeks. Sherlock immediately began bustling him from the room but John managed to fall back, telling him to grab a cab and that he’d be right behind him. The detectives eyes narrowed for a moment, obviously impatient, but continued out the door all the same. 

Turning his attention to Molly John smiled warmly before pulling her into a hug. He knew she hadn’t been the only person planning this set up, but she was the only one there at the moment that he could thank. The embrace lasted only for a moment, emotions welling up inside him, threatening to spill out. 

“Thank you so much Molly. He won’t say it, but if you hadn’t done this... just thank you.” 

He gave her hand a small squeeze before heading out after Sherlock. 

John was a little surprised when Sherlock insisted that they head back to Baker Street. Considering only a few of John’s things were still there, and the rest of the flat was empty. Sherlock simply insisted that he knew his brother, and that they needed to return home. That, of course, John agreed to easily. 

The short cab ride was tense, so many things still unsaid, and their desire to close the short distance between each other was almost overwhelming. They were practically tripping over each other when they finally pulled up to 221B. John froze in the doorway of their sitting room, much to Sherlock’s dismay. 

Everything exactly where it should be, sans the normal comfortable clutter the room normally held. John leaned against the door jamb, overcome by emotions once again, and when Sherlock slowly walked back over to him, realizing he hadn’t been following him to the bedroom, he smiled at the detective. 

“It’s good to have you home.” He murmured softly, lacing one hand through Sherlock’s as he stared up into the sharp green eyes.

"It's good to be home." He brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses to each knuckle, then repeated the action to each fingertip. He realized in that moment that the two of them, although so different, were two parts of the same whole. Where John was the warmth and light, keeping him from falling too much into despair, he was the cool and dark, giving John solace from whatever hardship he was facing. They were two sides of the same coin, they simply belonged together. 

"John... I." When he raised his eyes to the doctor's again, The words stalled in his throat. How could he say something that sounded so odd even to himself? Instead he just watched, his eyes flickering back and forth between John’s, begging him to understand. Words never failed him, but they did now as he tried desperately to convey how important John was to him, how much he utterly needed him.

“Shh. I know.” John spoke softly his hand slid back to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck and pull them together, resuming the passionate kiss they had started at the morgue. The only difference was now they were really alone. John pushed off the wall, and they clumsily made their way towards their bedroom, their lips only separating long enough to divest themselves of their clothing as they walked, leaving a haphazard trail in their wake. 

Hands traced familiar paths as they entered the bedroom, stark naked gasping into each others mouths. They fell into the bed, Sherlock on top of John 

When the John’s lips started moving down his throat, Sherlock gasped and thrust his hips against the man beneath him. 

"Ah John!" He gasped, hands running down the doctor's sides. "I-I want you-ah!" He cried out as the doctor nipped at his collarbone. Pulling away slightly so that he could think straight, he moved his lips to John's ear.

"I think this is the perfect occasion for... Will you..." He asked softly as hands tickled up his rib cage, "John!" 

John smiled coyly, running his hands up Sherlock’s back, raking his nails across his skin scratching it softly as he chuckled darkly.

“Tell me what you want Sherlock.” His voice was a thick growl, one hand slipped down the arch of his back to squeeze the man’s arse lightly. He was fairly certain he knew what Sherlock wanted, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear those words fall from the detectives lips. “I need to hear it.”

“I-John I want you to take me.” His cheeks flushed red and he mentally berated himself. He didn’t know why he was so bashful, but he was sure that his new found emotions were to blame, “John...” He growled softly at the squeeze on his rear and thrust his hips forward.

The words sent a wave of arousal to his already hardening cock. John brought his lips to Sherlock’s again, moaning into his mouth wantonly as his mind raced through all the possibilities. The hand on the swell of Sherlock’s arse slipped between his cheeks, one finger lightly circling the twitching ring of muscle. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” he teased softly before moving his lips to brush against Sherlock’s ear lobe softly as he spoke, “I want you on your back so I can open you up, but after that...” He paused for a moment, gasping as Sherlock’s hips pressed his own throbbing member between them deliciously. “After that I want you to ride me Sherlock. I want to see you come completely undone fucking yourself on my cock.” 

John knew exactly how dirty the words sounded coming from his mouth, but he also knew how much an especially provocative turn of phrase could leave Sherlock absolutely aching for it. 

Sherlock moaned and felt his body shudder at the filthy words. With a moan, he slid off the doctor, rolling over on his back. He could already feel the tendrils of pleasure coursing up his spine at the memory of of John’s fingers inside of him. 

John rested back on his heels, lips parted unconsciously as he gaped at Sherlock openly. “God you’re gorgeous.” The words barely fell from his lips before he was fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table, a little surprised when he found the lube still tucked away there. Mycroft’s mover’s were very good. 

Slicking two fingers John positioned himself between Sherlock’s hips. His lips grazed the inside of the detectives thigh as his now slicked fingers ran from the tip of his throbbing member down to tease the his entrance. He pressed lightly, not enough to enter the slick heat, but enough to leave Sherlock squirming for more. 

“I don’t know why you were acting shy before Sherlock. You’re obviously comfortable like this.” 

He nipped at the inside of Sherlock’s thigh as his lips moved closer to his twitching member, slipping the one finger in at the same time. He sucked on the sensitive spot for a moment before letting his tongue jut out to soothe the bruising skin, pulling his finger out as he placed a chaste kiss to the reddening skin. 

John had missed this almost as much as he’d missed his detective’s constant presence. It was intoxicating, teasing Sherlock slowly, watching his mind let go of everything else and lose himself in the pleasure. 

He slipped his finger back inside of him and began thrusting, adding the second finger after just a few agonizingly slow movements. Breathing heavily along Sherlock’s twitching member John licked a cool stripe up his shaft, letting his tongue swirl over the tip, moaning as he tasted the precum collected there. 

Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever heard the sounds that were coming out of his mouth before. It was somewhere between a breathy whimper and a cry of pleasure. His hips thrust up of their own accord looking for more pressure on his cock or against John’s fingers, anywhere he didn’t care. He just wanted more of John, enough to fill him up so he’d never have to be without him again. 

“Ah.. John!” His voice had suddenly rose as the fingers expertly grazed his prostate. With a moan, his hands twisted in the doctor’s hair, attempting to pull him closer. Tugging harder, he managed to pull the man back up so he could bury his face against John’s neck as he spoke again, silently grateful he didn’t have to say this while looking into his knowing blue eyes.

“I want you inside of me. I want you to give it to me so that I feel it for days. I never want to know what it feels like to forget the feeling of your cock inside of me. Please John...” his voice was needy as he spoke, a heavy whine filtering through his words. 

A throaty moan ripped from John’s chest as his hips canted against Sherlock’s, the fingers inside of him. Stretching him roughly before pulling them out completely. His body still over Sherlock’s, preventing him from moving just yet. He pulled away enough that he could look Sherlock in the eyes, his own blown wide with lust. 

“Kiss me.” He brushed his nose along the detectives softly. His tone was playful and when Sherlock complied he drew him into a deep kiss before wrapping his limbs around Sherlock’s thin frame and rolling them over so Sherlock was now straddling his hips. Finally pulling his lips away John began nipping and kissing his way back down to the sharp collarbones. He was beginning to love how easily he could leave bruises on the taut skin there. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want love,” he muttered softly against Sherlock’s neck before continuing along to the other side.

His hand found the tube that lay forgotten, pressing it into Sherlock’s palm without pulling his lips away, “You’ll want this.” His lips traveled down the pale chest, pausing to let his tongue circle Sherlock’s nipple, teeth grazing against the erect nub before he let himself gaze back up at Sherlock lustfully. 

A moan ripped it’s way from Sherlock’s chest as eagerness and desperation made his hands shaky with haste. He opened the tube and squeezed a fair amount on his hand before reaching down and wrapping his long fingers around the shaft. The feeling of how hard John actually was made the detective’s breath shudder out of his lungs. 

He gasped as his fingers took a few long strokes before holding him tight and positioning himself so that the head was pressing against his entrance.Taking a few deep breaths, he raised his eyes to John’s and slowly began sliding down the length. 

A low moan hissed out of his mouth as he took each centimeter of the doctor’s cock agonizingly slow, wanting to memorize the feel of him inside. His eyes never left blue ones as he lowered himself until his hips were fitted against the smaller man’s. His breath was coming in harsh pants, and his hands splayed over a John’s chest possessively. 

“God... it’s almost too much.” he said softly, his head falling back and eyes closing. The new angle was different from how it had been last time. His body was totally open and accepting, and he felt the pleasure settling low in his belly as he gave an experimental roll of his hips.

John met Sherlock’s movement with minute thrust of his hips. His eyes fell closed as he moaned deeply. “God Sherlock, it feels amazing.”

He gave Sherlock a moment more to acclimate before wrapping one hand around the neglected member between them. John stroked it experimentally as he thrust his hips again, pulling out a bit this time before sinking back into the silky heat. 

“I won’t take long like this Sherlock,” He thrust his hips up again slowly, the resulting moan making his point abundantly clear. “When you’re ready,” he squeezed Sherlock’s cock a little tighter, still stroking it as he spoke, “Tell me.” He thrust his hips up sharply, loving the throaty moan it drew from the disheveled man. 

The detective nodded. He let his hips rise and fall in gentle teasing thrusts, hands slipping back to John’s knees for leverage. The new angle caused the head of the doctor’s shaft to press right against his prostate, and his own weeping member jutted into the tight grip around it. 

“Oh God.” he panted. The slow thrusts were enough to get him hot and bothered but not enough to give him the release he wanted, and he let his head fall back, arching his spine lustfully. 

“Your hands... I want to feel them.” One hand took John’s free hand and pulled it to cradle his waist, urging him to squeeze harder and take what he knew they both needed. 

As his hips continually rocked down against his prostate, he knew he wouldn’t last long either, “Now John... please I … need this.” He swallowed hard and gripped tightly at the smaller man’s knees.

The desperation in Sherlock’s voice was enough to push John to the edge, a guttural growl ripped through his chest as he grabbed Sherlock just above his hips, pulling him down as he thrust into him relentlessly. “God Sherlock.. ‘S amazing..” John was barely aware of the praise falling from his lips. 

Keeping the same pace John brought one had back to Sherlock’s cock, stroking it fast, urging the detective over the edge, his own arousal coiling tightly within him. He was teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. Keeping his half lidded eyes on the Sherlock he gasped desperately. 

“Sherlock, I need you to come for me. Now. I want to feel it.” He bit back a whine as he staved off his own orgasm, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic.

The detective’s hands were gripping at John’s knees tightly as the hard thrusts were driving him closer and closer to the edge. Then the hand sped up over his cock, and John’s needy voice filtered through the lusty haze into his ears and he came, his entire body clenching tightly as he gave himself, all of himself, to John. 

His body shuddered in pleasure as wave after wave of his orgasm crashed over him. His mind was pleasantly white and blank as he came down from his orgasmic high.

Sherlock clenched around John’s cock over and over again as he rode out the orgasm. It only took a few deep thrusts for John to follow him. He stilled as pleasure rushed through his body, leaving him shaking and slick with sweat and cum. The last waves of Sherlock’s pleasure causing the tight muscles to flutter against his now very sensitive member. 

His chest was heaving, as he pulled out of Sherlock gently, pulling the detective down into his chest. The rest of the world was still pleasantly fuzzy and warm, the post coital haze leaving him breathless and euphoric.

Sherlock felt sticky and dirty as John pulled him down so that their chests were pressed together. He was panting hard into John’s throat, nuzzling affectionately. Suddenly a thought hit him so hard that he sat up a little, his breath mixing with John’s between them.

“Three years.” he said simply, his eyes meeting John’s with a serious frown. 

John’s brow furrowed deeply, attempting, for a fleeting moment, to follow Sherlock’s train of thought before cocking his head to the side. His hand idly tracing up the detectives rib cage as he spoke. “Three years? What are you on about now?” His tone was calm and contented, curious, but not particularly concerned about the statement.

“When I first came back, you said if anything ever happened to me, you’d be waiting forever, never knowing if I was truly gone. I told you then that you could never know. I want to change that.” He brushed his fingers over John’s tanned chest, feeling his cheeks heating in a blush, “So I’m setting the bar at three years. If I ever disappear, if I have to leave you for any reason, I promise you I will come back to you within three years. If I don’t then you’ll know, because the only thing that could keep me away from you now would be my death.” 

He pressed his forehead to the doctor’s and smiled softly, “I promise you as long as it’s within my powers I will always come back to you.” 

At some point during Sherlock’s short speech John’s eyes began prickling dangerously, his emotions threatening to wash over him again. His throat felt tight and his mouth was dry, so he didn’t voice his response. Instead he nodded minutely before pressing their lips together again softly, a stark difference from how they had entered the flat. 

When they finally pulled apart their eyes met again, and John returned the soft smile. He desperately hoped that he would not have to hold Sherlock to his words, but John understood the meaning behind the promise. This was everything Sherlock could give him. John found it heady and exhilarating as he looked back into the open green eyes, for once not seeing a hint of the his regular barriers. 

“Thank you.” John finally managed, knowing Sherlock would understand everything he was thanking him for. He always understood. 

“No John. I should be thanking you.” He pulled himself off of the doctor and curled around him. He felt something soft tickling at his back and pulled a large stuffed hedgehog from where it had been wedged between the bed and the nightstand, neither of them seeing poor Hamish in their haste.

“Here,” he said dropping the stuffed animal on top of John’s chest playfully, “Wouldn’t want our family to be incomplete.”


	20. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue, but this is the last full chapter. Enjoy. Happy New Years

“I can’t believe you convinced my parents to come to the estate for Christmas.” John laughed, leaning against Sherlock in the back of the car they were taking out to the Holmes Estate. 

It was the first time they hadn’t had their Christmas Eve party at Baker Street, but when Madame Holmes had made the offer John gladly accepted. He really did not want to have both families crammed into their flat. “Molly and Derek are still coming right?”

“Molly told me she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Apparently she has an announcement to make tonight.” The detective’s eyes glinted with a knowing light. It was obvious he’d deduced from their earlier phone conversation everything he needed to discover prematurely the nature of her announcement.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand and smiled brightly. It was odd, having both families together for Christmas, something he’d never known he’d wanted until his mother had suggested it. Her reasoning was that he and John had been together for some time, and it was about time she got to meet his family as well. 

“Oh come on. I know you’ve got it all worked out, what’s her big announcement?” John teased, nudging Sherlock’s shoulder with his own. 

“Oh come now, I can’t ruin her surprise, that’s just cold.” he smirked knowing full well on any other occasion he would have divulged the information to John almost immediately, “Let her have her moment. You’ll see. It’s better if you hear from her.” 

Just then the car rounded the bend, and the tall sweeping mass of Holmes Manor came into view. The home no longer held trepidation, as every time Mycroft had requested he come visit their mother, he had agreed, bringing John, and it had seemed to alleviate the foreboding aura he’d attached to the place long ago. 

“Fine.” John grumbled, smiling as he looked up the drive to the Estate. “Looks like we’re the last one’s here. Again.” There was already a small collection of car’s on the drive. John’s parents had drove with Harry. Mycroft, Lestrade, and the kids had come up the night before, wanting to get the children settled in before the party. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d been the last to arrive, between Sherlock getting distracted by experiments and John fretting over packing for the both of them they were generally always the last to arrive. It amazed Sherlock that John still managed to become anxious before these family events, but by the time they were pulling up to the front of the manor John had relaxed. 

“It wasn’t my fault this time. You were the one that forgot to pack Hamish.” Sherlock said flippantly. Over time, the stuffed hedgehog had become an ever present part of their relationship. John had called him childish about it at first, but when he explained that the stuffed animal was a constant reminder of how much John cared about him. Most days it sat on a shelf, holding the same place in the flat as the skull did. Other times when Sherlock was particularly insecure, John would come home from the surgery to find him curled up with the fluffy toy in his arms.

They’d barely made it out of the car before a butler was retrieving their bags. A high pitched squeal cut across the courtyard and a little girl with sandy ringlets burst out of the house, sprinting across the drive and launching herself into Sherlock’s arms. 

“Uncle Sherly! Uncle John!” her giggles were regarded with a raised eyebrow from Sherlock, but his arms wrapped around the child warmly.

“Kylie.” he said simply. If the little girl was deterred by her uncle’s lack of emotion she didn’t show it. 

“Uncle Sherlock, Auntie John.” Came the snarky voice of Victoria, Lestrade’s oldest from where she lounged against the doorway. Her brunette hair and sharp features reminded Sherlock of her mother. 

“Stop making fun of me about that!” came Kylie’s aggravated response from Sherlock’s arms, “I was little, and they told me in school that Uncles and Aunts go together! And Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John do go together...” she pouted obviously frustrated at her sister’s teasings. Sherlock leaned forward, whispered something in her ear that made her smile. Then she squealed as his long fingers tickled her before setting her down.

“Run along and go let Papa ‘Croft know we’re here.” he said with a small smile.

John shot Victoria a look that said ‘Behave yourself’ as they made their way inside. They had spent an astounding amount of time with Lestrade’s children, there was no doubt that they were family. Once they were out of the teenagers ear shot John asked, “What’d you say to Kylie?”  
It had been a bit of a surprise when John realized Sherlock was actually very good with kids. It was amazing really, he didn’t try and treat them differently or go out of his way to entertain them, he just treated them like people that ‘haven't quite grown into their minds yet’. That explanation had made John laugh, but it worked.

“I told her not to mind her sister, she was just upset that her last boyfriend dumped her and she was starting to get an embarrassing pimple on the end of her nose.” He chuckled and wrapped an arm around John’s waist, pulling him into his side. 

Just then Greg and Mycroft rounded the corner, and the Detective Inspector’s eyes lit up. He hadn’t seen them in a while at the precinct due to a lack of interesting murders, and he would never admit it, but he’d missed them.

“John! Sherlock! You finally made it!” He shook both their hands with a warm smile, “Kylie came to fetch us, said you gave her ‘ammunition against further attempts from her sister to smear her good name.’ I swear Sherlock, you’re rubbing off on her more than I’m sure I like. She’s starting to get your smart mouth too.” 

John rolled his eyes, watching the youngest girl sneak away behind Greg’s back. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” he assured them happily. “As for Kylie... Well with the way she’s taking after Sherlock, Mycroft won’t have to worry about threatening any boys off.” He gave Mycroft a look that obviously referred to how well he’d taken meeting Victoria’s first boyfriend. “At this rate she’ll be deducing their intentions all on her own.”

Mycroft shot John a bored look before responding. “We were called to her school last week because she asked her teacher if her cat had died or ran away. The woman had never told the class that she even had a cat. The idiot of a counselor tried to say they are worried for her emotional state.” The last word was said with so much disdain John was actually surprised by Mycroft’s calm demeanour. “These public schools are absolutely infuriating.” He let out a heavy sigh shaking his head. 

“She’s a smart girl,” John offered, with a small smile. “She’ll be fine.” 

“Of course she’ll be fine. She’s my daughter,” Greg replied smiling, “Besides, she has two uncles and a stepfather who can and will kill anyone who tries to hurt her. I’m not worried.” He smiled up and placed a kiss on Mycroft’s cheek. 

“However, John, you’re family has been a bit antsy. They haven’t met Mummy yet, and I suspect your mother is about to have a meltdown if you don’t go to her soon.” The DI’s tone was a bit wary. Sherlock didn’t blame him, Mrs. Watson could be quite overwhelming to say the least.

“Best not keep her waiting. She likes me little enough already.” He said with a smirk before leading the doctor towards the sitting room he knew they’d all be in. 

When they entered the sitting room they found John’s parent’s, Harry, Molly and Derek all sitting in the large room. Harry and Molly were chattering easily enough, it was the first time either of them had been to the Holmes Manor, but they were comfortable enough with the family that they weren’t rigid in their seats like the rest of the guests. 

Molly, who was facing the entrance to the sitting room, was the first to see them. “John! Sherlock!” Her face lit up as she jumped from her seat to give them a quick hug, Derek nodding his hello from his seat. 

John allowed themselves to be lead over to the sofa, taking a seat opposite his parents. 

“Hello Molls. How’s married life treating you?” He teased her playfully, loving the blush that crept onto her cheeks as she smiled widely.

“Oh, swimmingly.” she reached a hand back and Derek easily wrapped it in his own. 

“Oh my god John!” His mother’s voice cut in as she swept him up from the couch in a hug, “You look like you’ve been keeping well. It seems you’ve kept Sherlock fed as well. He doesn’t look near as deathly ill as he did at Easter.” Her smile was tight but it was obvious she was trying to be polite.

John chuckled giving her a light peck on the cheek. “He always looks better around the holidays,” and then whispering as though he was saying something he didn’t want Sherlock to over hear he continued, “He’s a sucker for your Banoffee pie.” 

He released his mother, giving his father a short very masculine embrace before sitting back down. “Did everyone get settled in their rooms? Have you had a chance to explore at all?” John remembered his first visit to the estate vividly, the large manor and sprawling grounds had been a bit overwhelming at the time. 

“Oh yes, we have a lovely little room overlooking a beautiful lake! There’s a lovely tree down there that looks like a beautiful spot for a picnic.” 

Sherlock shared a knowing look with John and wrapped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, leaning to drop a kiss just above his ear. It was then that Madame Holmes decided to join them. The tall elegant woman was wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with a wide red belt, and she looked every bit the Matriarch of the Holmes family.

With a smile she strode into their midst and directly up to the two Watsons. “You must be Virgina and Charles Watson.” She held out her hand to each of them in turn, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’m Lucretia Holmes.” Her smile was wide on her thin, beautiful face.

John watched the exchange warily, his mother had eventually accepted Sherlock, but this was the first time either of his parents had met any of the other Holmes. It was his father that finally broke the silence. Standing he took her hand firmly.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you ma’am.” John could almost hear a swell of emotion in his father’s words and he smiled, clutching Sherlock’s hand in his own. “I’m glad we were all able to be here.”

At that moment Timothy came barreling into the sitting room, “Papa says everyone needs to come to dinner.” He had an excited smile plastered to his face, no doubt because he knew after dinner gifts would be given out. At some point over the last year the middle child had dropped the Croft part of the name they’d so adoringly given Mycroft. As soon as the words had left his lips he had turned around and shot back to the dining room, eager for the meal to start, with or without everyone else. 

“God he looks more like Greg everyday doesn’t he?” John noted softly as they all started for the dining room. He could see his mother chatting warmly with Lucretia out of the corner of his eye and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“He does.” he smiled and pulled out John’s chair for him as they sat down for dinner. The meal was grand, the food warm and delicious, and the company even better. Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time this many people had been at his mother’s estate, probably that first birthday party where he'd brought John to meet her. He found that having John by his side made him much less socially inept, and he attributed it to the fact that the man could calm his mind with a single touch. By the end of the dinner, the two youngest of Greg’s children were practically vibrating with excitement. 

“I think if we wait any longer the children might combust.” Came Lucretia’s high pitched voice. 

“Oh Nonnie please can we open presents now?” Kylie was practically wriggling in her seat. 

“Oh I think we must. You and Timothy go start pulling the presents from under the tree, Your fathers and I will get everyone rounded up into the sitting room.” The children lept from their seats and sped into the sitting room. Sherlock held out his hand for the doctor, and helped him up from the table. Everyone made their way into the sitting room and the detective pulled the smaller man down on the couch beside him as the children began passing out gifts.

The children went first, the youngest tearing through the paper as if her life depended upon it, much to the amusement of everyone else. After the three children had opened their gifts and given their thanks to everyone Sherlock pulled out a small box, passing it along to Molly with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“Since we’re going by age here.” He smiled and gestured for her to open it. 

Molly regarded him curiously before opening the carefully wrapped package. John had wrapped all of the gifts, and he hadn’t seen this one. He silently asked Sherlock what it was with a pair of raised eyebrows but the detective simply shook his head and smiled. 

Opening the top of the small box Molly paused staring in at it’s contents utterly bemused. Derek popped over her shoulder to take a look, and the same confused look passed over his features.

“Uhm. Thank you Sherlock. Really...” She seemed to be containing a small giggle as she pulled out the gift. “But what is it?” 

She had pulled out a circular device that, as far as John could tell, looked like some sort of painful puzzle. It was black, white and green, and the circular structure was made up of crisscrossing plastic bars of varying thickness. Everyone in the room seemed to hold the same confused expression, eyes jumping from the gift to Sherlock and back again. Everyone that is except for Mycroft. 

A dawning expression crossed Mycroft’s features before a small, almost unseen, smile pulled at his lips. “Very good brother, although I’m fairly certain you’re supposed to wait to give such gifts.”

“It’s a toy to improve the developmental function of infants.” He said simply, ignoring Mycroft. He looked into her eyes and gave her a wide knowing smile. “I believe you had an announcement to make today didn’t you?” 

Molly froze, a little surprised but Derek laughed and took the toy from her, turning it over in his own hands. 

“Yeah.. I-I did.” She finally stammered. She turned her attention back to everyone else in the room, smiling widely as Derek set down the toy to take her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Her lips pressed together nervously for a moment before she blurted it out.

“I’m pregnant!” She giggled nervously as everyone’s attention was on her and Derek, the room quickly filling with excitement. When all the congratulations had died down she looked back to Sherlock shaking her head. “Is there anything you don’t know?” 

“Well I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet, give me a few months.” His smile was genuine as he stood and kissed her on the cheeks. “I’m happy for you Molly.” He reflected quickly on how horrid he had been to her in those early years, and not for the first time, he was ashamed of the way he’d treated her. He could only hope to make it up to her somehow in the future. 

He sat back next to John and nuzzled John’s ear before settling back into the couch to watch the rest of his rather large family open their presents. The exchange began very organized, each person taking a turn opening their gifts, but as the evening went on, and champagne was passed around the group became much more exuberant. Laughing and chattering over each other as the floor became a mess of paper and boxes. When all of the gifts that had been stacked around the tree were gone Molly and John exchanged a silent look. 

“There’s no more presents.” Kylie stated obviously. “Is it time for dessert?” She was looking around the room with narrowed eyes as if she knew they were waiting for something. 

“Actually.” John piped up, pulling a small box from his pocket, wrapped in red and green striped metallic paper paper. “I have one more gift.” 

He turned in his seat to hand Sherlock the package. It fit squarely in the palm of his hand. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened for a moment before he took in the dimensions of the box. He and John had made a deal not to get each other presents this year. Slowly, and neatly, he unwrapped the present and found a small velvet box beneath the festive wrapping. It was square, large enough one might put jewelry in it. His throat closed up for a moment as he lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a shiney key. Sherlock recognized it as the key to John’s room.

“John?” he asked, his brows were knit together in confusion.

“I know we said no gifts, but honestly Sherlock this is for both of our sanities. That’s the key to my old room. Molly and Mycroft helped me while you were in France on that case... Now you have you’re own lab.” He smiled sheepishly. “Molly made sure everything you would need was there. It’s really for both of us, because in theory this should make the kitchen, you know, for eating again.”

Sherlock lifted the key from the box and turned it over in his hand. On more than one occasion since they had started their relationship, John had made it a point that he needed his own space, even if he rarely spent any time there. The fact that John had taken that space and made into something for Sherlock made the taller man's throat catch. 

"I can't decide whether I want to say thank you or laugh because you just wanted the kitchen back," he chuckled lightly and pulled John against him. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips he murmured a thank you before catching Greg's eye over his shoulder. When the excitement died out , the DI cleared his throat.

"John, Kylie's wriggling for that desert as I'm kind of trapped here." He gestured to the three children surrounding him, "Would you mind?"

“No problem, I’ve got it. Kitchen yeah?” He was already heading out of the room as he asked the question, but the detective stopped him in the doorway, having jumped up to follow him. 

“I’ve got it Sherlock.” John started, moving to pull away, but Sherlock pulled him to a stop. When the doctor looked at him quizzically, he pointed upwards to where a sprig of real mistletoe was hanging. 

“Bring back any memories?” he asked softly.

John smiled, stepping closer to Sherlock, vaguely aware that quite a few eyes were on them. “I promise not to run off this time.” 

"I hope not..." His voice was deep and wavered slightly as he reached into his pocket with his left hand, his right catching John's, "It's been three years since we started this, since I came home. Three years you have been dealing with my tantrums and cleaning up my messes. Three years you've loved me, even though I couldn't love you back….” His voice wavered for a moment, but he continued on. “I asked you once, to wait for three years, and you've done so and stuck by me blindly. I think you've waited long enough."

Slowly the tall lanky man sunk to one knee so he was kneeling in front of John. All eyes were on them as he pulled the small velvet box out of his pocket, and a breath was taken and held collectively as he spoke.

"John Hamish Watson." He said, opening the box to reveal a silver ring, masculine but engraved with intertwining vines, "Will you marry me?"

John’s free hand came up to cover his mouth, his breath caught somewhere in his chest. His heart had been pounding the moment Sherlock started his speech, and now John couldn’t seem to find his voice. His eyes flitted back and forth from the ring to Sherlock’s nervous and adoring expression. Chest heaving with shallow breath John squeezed the hand gripping his own, too surprised to actually formulate a coherent response. 

After a moment of John's stunned silence, Sherlock's brows knit together worriedly, "John, I need you to answer, this is one thing I can't deduce." He smiled lightly hoping it hid his uncertainty.

Breath crashed back into his chest suddenly and John gasped. Nodding eagerly he pulled Sherlock to his feet, “Yes. God yes Sherlock.” He leaned forward as Sherlock clambered to his feet, kissing him deeply as he murmured against his lips. “Yes. Always yes.”

There was a cry of excitement from behind them and after several meaningful kisses Sherlock pulled him close, left hand between them so he could slip the ring on as his lips ghosted across the smaller man's ear in a whisper, "I love you John Watson." 

He produced a letter and tucked it into John' hand. No one saw the doctor slip the envelope with Sherlock's spidery writing into his pocket, but that was alright, because this was for the two of them.

“I know.” John said softly, still close enough that only Sherlock heard. John had known that Sherlock had loved him in every way he could for a long time, but hearing those words for the first time after three years was almost more than John could handle. His breath caught in his chest again as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist. “I love you too Sherlock.” 

Over Sherlock’s shoulder John could see their family all smiling back at them. Both mothers wiping away tears, and as the couple pulled apart John chuckled softly. He smiled back at Sherlock, pushing a stray curl back from his forehead, “That’s how you convinced my mother to stay here for christmas.”

Sherlock responded with a small shrug before kissing him again. “So this... this is good?” 

John chuckled at the detective’s words, thinking back to the way they established everything in their relationship. “I’d say this is a bit better than good Sherlock.” He twined his fingers with the brunette’s as he reassured him, “So much better than just good.”


End file.
